
Class. 
Book. 



:■. 




5 

.a 





THE 

UNITED STATES SPEAKER: 



A COPIOUS SELECTION 07 



EXERCISES IN ELOCUTION; 



CONSISTING OF 

PROSE, POETRY, AND DIALOGUE 

DRAWN CHIEFLY 

FROM THE MOST APPROVED WRITERS OF GREAT BRITAIN 

AND AMERICA : INCLUDING a VARIETY OF PIECES 

SUITABLE FOR VERY YOUNG SPEAKERS : 

DESIGNED FOR THE 

USE OF COLLEGES AND SCHOOLS. 



BY JOHN E. LOVELL, 



FORMERLY INSTRUCTOR OF ELOCUTION IN THE MOUNT PLEASANT 
CLASSICAL INSTITUTION ; AMHERST, MASS. 



% 

Delivery, I say, bears absolute sway in Oratory." — Cicero. 

" Let them enjoy their persuasion, who think, that to be born is sufficient to mak© 
a man an Orator : they will pardon our labor, who think, that nothing can arrive at 
perfection, unless when nature is assisted by careful cultivation."— Quintilli an. 



STEREOTYPE EDITION, 

REVISED AND IMPROVED. 




NEW HAVEN: 

PUBLISHED BY S. BABCOCK. 

BOLD ALSO BY CROCKER AND BREWSTER, GOULD, KENDALL, AND LINCOLN, AND JeI 
AND PALMER, BOSTON. — BELKNAP AND HAMERSLEY, HART70RD. — COLLINS, BROTHER, 
AND CO., ROBINSON, PRATT, AND CO., AND HUNTINGTON AND SAVAGE, NEW YORK 
— THOMAS, COWPERTHWAITE, AND CO., AND GRIGG AND ELLIOT, PHILADEL- 
PHIA. — SMITH, DRINKER, AND MORRIS, RICHMOND.- BABCOCK AND CO., 
CHARLESTON. — WHITE AND SNOW, TUSCALOOSA. — J. K. RANDALL,' 
MOBILE. — MCKEAN AND CASEY, NEW ORLEANS. — I. N. WHITING, 
COLUMBUS, OHIO. 



1650 



A. 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1835, by John E 
Lovell, in ihe Office of the Clerk of the District Court of Connecticut 



*3ff 



STEREOTYPED BY HENRY W. RKSS, 
NO. 45 GOL© ST. NEW YORK. 



*£2 

63/3 

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION 



The following selections have been accumulating upon the Compiler's 
hands for several years, and are those, chiefly, which from time to time, 
in the course of his practice as a teacher of elocution, have elicited his 
preference, as exercises for his own pupils. Some of them, he is aware, 
have appeared in the volumes of previous compilers; this, however, he 
considers no defect, since each selection has been adopted with scrupulous 
regard to its " spirit and appliancy." It will be found, perhaps, that sufficient 
freshness is thrown over the volume, by the numerous pieces which have 
never before appeared in print, for the same purpose. His object has been 
to bring together a full collection of short, eloquent, and pertinent extracts, 
with studious solicitude for the advancement of the art. He trusts he has 
succeeded. He believes such a work to be decidedly wanted, and without 
any invidious reference, to what may appear to him, the defects of similar 
publications, ventures to commend his own to the consideration of the teach- 
ing public. He flatters himself it will be found to merit their patronage. 
It is, doubtless, the most copious and various collection of recitations in the 
United States, and, — may he be permitted to add, — not inferior to any, in 
every higher respect. The eloquent and classical writers of the day have 
afforded abundant and beautiful materials, and some specimens have been 
drawn from " the golden sources of antiquity." It is, perhaps, unnecessary 
to add, that the paramount interests of morality have not been lost sight of. 

Great pains have been taken to distribute through the book, numerous 
pieces, suitable for the recitations of very young students. This, the Com- 
piler conceives, is an addition of no trifling importance. The school-books 
on this point are altogether at fault ; the idea, indeed, seems to have been 
entirely misunderstood or overlooked. The culture of Delivery, however, 
can hardly be commenced too early. It is while the organs of the voice, 
and the limbs are yet flexible ; — while the taste is yet unvitiated, that the first 
lessons of elocution should be imparted ; — it is then (if the expression may 
be allowed) that her beautiful incantations should begin ; it is then the seeds, 
intended to produce the garland of the orator, should be sown. The ancients 
understood this fact well. " They began their toils with the very first rudi- 
ments of education, and with the first spark of reason." What was the 
result ? — To this one circumstance, possibly, more than to any other — not 



IV PREFACE. 

excepting even their extreme and incessant labor — is to be imputed tho 
existence and diffusion of that wonderful oratory, which will be considered 
throughout all time, the highest glory of Greece and Rome. 

The plates are designed not merely as embellishments. It is believed 
they may be studied with advantage. The Poetical Gestures are selected 
from Austin's Chironomia ; the Frontispiece from Henry Siddons, on Gesture. 

The orthography will be found, generally, to agree with the improvements 
of that illustrious American Lexicographer, Doctor Webster. 

The typographical execution of tne work, it is presumed, will scarcely fall 
short of that of the best printed school-books of this country. 

With these remarks the United States Speaker is respectfully and cheer- 
fully submitted to the decision of an impartial public. 

J. E. L. 

New Haven, March, 1833. 



STEREOTYPE EDITION. 

The United States Speaker has now assumed a permanent form. The 
decided favor extended to the first and second editions, and the rapidly in- 
creasing demand for the work, have stimulated both tne publisher and the 
compiler to use every means in their power to render the present, stereotype 
edition, as perfect as possible. It is presented to its patrons in the confident 
belief that they will find it greatly improved over the former impressions. 
Some of the longer dialogues, being considered by teachers, who use the 
work, as more suitable for exhibitions, than for purely elocution exercises, 
have been withdrawn, and the space so gained, is occupied with a variety 
of prose and poetical selections not to be found in any similar publication. 
The dialogues so withdrawn, will appear in a work composed exclusively 
of dialogues ; it is already in a state of considerable forwardness, and will 
soon be put to press. 

The compiler avails himself of this opportunity to acknowledge his in- 
debtedness to those gentlemen from whom he has had the honor to receive 
such flattering testimonials in commendation of his work. 

J. E. L» 

New Haven, November, 1835. 



CONTENTS. 



PART FIRST. 



SPECIMENS OF AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 



SELECTION. 

1. Character of True Eloquence. • 

2. Causes of War. - - . 

3. Tribute to Washington. - 

4. Necessity of Resistance. .... 

5. Character of Patriotic Triumph. - 

6. Influence of the Principles of American Government. 

7. The Moral Effects of Intemperance. 

8. The Best of Classics. - 

9. Two Centuries from the Landing of the Pilgrims. 

10. The Heroes of the Last War. - 

11. A Century from the Birth of Washington. 
\H. Scotland. -....«, 
1-3. Eulogy on Hamilton. - 

14. French Aggressions. - 

15. Intelligence Necessary to Perpetuate Independence. 
In. The Loss of National Character. - 

17. The Tomahawk Submissive to the Spirit of Eloquence. 

18. Effects of Protestantism. - 

19. The True Sources of National Greatness. 

20. Grateful Tribute to the Heroes of the Revolution. 

21. Necessity of a Pure National Morality. 

22. No Excellence without Labor. - 

23. Relief of the Soldiers of the Revolution. 

24. Influence of National Glory. - 

25. Frauds upon the Revenue. - 

26. Influence of Great Actions Dependent on their Results. 

27. Prevalence of War. 

28. Military Insubordination. - 

29. Evils of Dismemberment. - - 

30. Impressions Derived from the Study of History. 

31. Importance of Preserving the Union. 

32. Political Corruption. - 

33. National Recollections the Foundation of National Character. 

34. Happy Consequences of American Independence. 

35. Obligations of Massachusetts to Stand by the Union. 

36. The Obligations of America to La Fayette. 

37. Battle the Only Alternative. 
18 The Instability of Human Governments. 

i* 



page. 

Webster. 13 

Binney. 14 

Harrison. 14 

Henry. 15 

Maxcy. 16 

Webster. 1 7 

Beecher. 18 

Grimke. 19 

Crafts. 20 

horsey. 21 

Webster. 22 

Flagg. 23 

Mason. 24 

Paine. 25 

Dawes. 26 

Maxcy. 27 

Neal. 28 

Haven. 29 

Harper. 30 

Lathrop. 31 

Beecher. 32 

Wirt. 33 

Sprague. 84 

Clay. 36 

Hayne. 37 

Webster. 38 

Grimke. 39 

Clay. 40 

Webster. 42 

Verplanck. 43 

VV cbsler. 44 

MrDuffie. 45 

Everett. 47 

Maxcy. 48 

Webster. 49 

Hayne. 50 

Henry. 52 

Rutledge 53 



vi 



CONTENTS. 



SELECTION. 

39. Extent of Country not Dangerous to the Union. - 

40. Purpose of the Monument on Bunker's Hill. - 
ill. Illustrious Model for the Formation of Character. 

i2. The Bible. - - 

43. Change is not Reform. - 

44, Not Strength enough in the Bow. 
45 National Self-Respect. - 
46.' The Battle of Lexington. - 
47. Ennobling Recollections of the Revolution. 
48 Impolicy of the " Protecting System." 

*49. Splendid Tribute to the Talents of Chatham. 

50. Exposure to the Horrors of Indian Outrage. 

51. Specimen of the Eloquence of James Otis. 
-52. Decisive Integrity. - 

53. Qluminism. ----- 

54. La Fayette. - 

55. The Birthday of Washington. 

56. In Favor of the Declaration of Independence. 

57. The Influence of Knowledge. 

58. The American Revolution and the Reformation. 

59. The Goodness of God. 

60. Burr and Blannerhasset. - - - 
w61. Eloquent Appeal in Behalf of Greece. 

62. The Criminality of Dueling. 

63. Against the Invasion of Canada. 

64. The United States Navy, France, and Great Britain. 

65. The Ghost of Banquo. - 

66. Vindication of South Carolina. 

67. South Carolina During the Revolution. 

68. South Carolina and Massachusetts. 

69. Adams and Jefferson. ... 

70. Address in Behalf of the Greeks. 

71. Reply to Mr. Webster, in Senate, 1830. 

72. Rejoinder to Mr. Hayne, in Senate, 1830. 



PASS 

Madison. 54 

Webster. 56 

Wirt. 57 

Gnmke. 58 

Randolph. 59 

Webster. 61 

Beman. 62 

Everett. 63 

Hayne. 65 

Hayne. 66 

Wirt. 68 

Ames. 69 

Francis. 70 

Wirt. 72- 

Dtcight. 73 

Hillhouse. 75 

Webster. 76 

Lee. 78 

Wheaton. 80 

Grimke. 81 

Worcester. 83 

Wirt. 84 - 

Clay. 86 

Nott. 88 

Gaston. 89 

Lloyd. 91 

Webster. 93 

McDuffie. 95 

Hayne. 97 

Webster. 99 

Wirt. 101 

Lacey. 103 

Hayne. 105 

Webster. 106 



SPECIMENS OF EUROI EAN ELOQUENCE. 



1. Description of Junius. - - - - - 

2. Opinion Relative to the Right of England to Tax America. 

3. Jack to Sir John. - - - - - 

4. " A Political Pause." . - - - - 

5 Charles de Moor's Remorse. - 

6 The Passing of the Rubicon. - 

7. To the Young - - - - 

8. Contemplation of the Divine Being in his Works. 

9. Caesar's Triumphs - 

10. Las-Casas Dissuading from Battle. - 

11. Invective against trie Duke of Bedford. 

12. Ludicrous Account of English Taxes. 

13. Washington 

14. Female Patriotism. .... 

15. Enterprising Spirit of New-England 



Burke. 109 

Burke. 110 

Kotzebue. 110 

Fox. Ill 

Schiller. 112 

Knowlcs. 113 

Logan. 113 

Fielding. 114 

Knowles. 115 

Sheridan. 116 

Junius. 117 

Ed. Review. 118 

Phillips. 119 

Madame Roland. 120 

Burke. 121 



CONTENTS. 



Til 



BELSCTION. 

16. Love of Country. •••--. 

17. Future Punishment. - 

18. Impossibility of Conquering America. - - 

19. Oratorical Action. ---... 

20. Appeal to the Jury in Defense of Rowan. - 
81. Men of Sterling Integrity only fit for Office. - 

22. Character of an Informer. - 

23. Character of Filial Piety. - - 

24. Defense of J. A. Williams, for a Libel on the Clergy of Durham. 

25. Osmond's Dream. ------ 

§6. Reflections on the Youth and Theatrical Manner of Mr. Pitt. 

27. Reply to the Ill-Timed Reflections of Mr. Walpole. 

28. Benevolence of the Supreme Being. - - - - 

29. Address to the Army of Italy. .... 
SO. The Scriptures and the Savior. - 

31. Political Cupidity Reproved. - 

32. On the Competency of Parliament to Pass the Measure of Union. 

S3. The Philosophy of Hatred. 

34. Address to the Volunteers at Bristol. - 

S5. The Splendor of War. - 

36. Political Severity Rebuked. - 

37. Effect of the Exclusive System on the Condition of Ireland. 

38. The Downfall of Bonaparte. 

39. The Fame Awaiting a Reformation of the Law. 

40. Defense of Rowan for Libel. - 

41. Reply to Mr. Corry's Attack on his Character. 

42. Reputation. ------- 

43. Limitation of the Amount of Pensions. - - - 

44. Fallacy of Mr. Tierney's Argument on a Motion for Peace with the 

French. ------- 

45. Indignant Rebuke on the Employment of Indians hi Civilized 

Warfare. ------ 

46. America. ------- 

47. Character of Napoleon Bonaparte. - - - - 

48. To the Jury in the Case of J. A. Williams for a Libel on the Clergy 

of Durham. ------ 

49. Paine's Age of Reason. - - - - - 

50. The Horrors of War. 

51. Invective against Warren Hastings. - 

52. HyderAli. 

53. Speech of Mac Briar to the Scotch Insurgents. 



PAGE. 


Minto. 


122 


Lamont. 


123 


Chatham. 


124 


Fordyce. 


126 


Curran. 


127 


Knowles. 


128 


Curran. 


129 


Sheridan. 


130 


Brougham. 


131 


Lewis. 


132 


Walpole. 


134 


Pitt. 


135 


Chalmers. 


136 


Bonaparte. 


137 


Rousseau. 


138 


Sheridan. 


140 


Plunket. 


141 


Canning. 


142 


Hall. 


144 


Chalmers. 


145 


Byron. 


146 


Phillips. 


148 


Grant. 


149 


Brougham. 


151 


Curran. 


152 


Grattan. 


153 


Phillips. 


155 


Curran. 


156 



Canning. 158 



Chatham. 


159 


Phillips. 


167 


Phillips. 


163 


3rovgham, 


165 


Erskine. 


166 


Hall. 


168 


Sheridan. 


170 


Burke. 


172 


Scott 


17S 



SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 



1. Selection from Chapter xxxix of the Book of Job. 

2. Selection from Chapter xxviii of the Book of Job. 

3. The Song of Moses ; from Chapter xv of Exodus. 

4. Selection from the Book of Joel. - - - . 

5. Selection from Chapter viii of the Book of Proverbs. 

6. Selection from Chapter lx of the Book of Isaiah, 

7. Extract from Demosthenes on the Crown, 

8. Nicolaus against putting the Athenian General Nicias, to Death. 



175 
175 
176 
177 

178 
179 
180 
181 



vm 



CONTENTS. 



SELECTION. 

9. Extract from Demosthenes on the Cro\\Ti. 

10. From Cicero's Oration against Veres. 

11. T. Quinctius to The Romans. - 
1 12. Chrysostom, on the Deceitfulness of Worldly Grandeur. 
,^13. From Cicero's First Oiation against CatiLne. 

^14. From Cicero's Fourth Oration against Catiline. - 

15. Germanicus to his Mutinous Soldiers. 

16: Hannibal to the Carthaginian Army. 

17. Scipio to the Roman Army. • 

"18. Adlierbal against the Violence of Jugurtha. 

19. iEschines against Demosthenes. • - 

20. Demosthenes to the Athenians. ... 



Page, 

. 182 
ISO'' 
184 
185 

- 186 
187 

• 188 
190 

. 192 
194 

• 197 
198 



PART SECOND. 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL, 



1. Science and Religion. 

2. " Look not upon the Wine when it is Red." 

3. Catiline's Reply to the Charges of Cicero. 

4. Fire. - 

5. The Warning. 

6. Death. ... 

7. The Dying Horse. 

8. To-Morrow. - 

9. The Flight of Xerxes. 

10. The American Patriot's Song. 

11. The Victim. 

12. The Call of Poland. 

13. The Ocean. 

14. The World. - 

15. Catiline, on Hearing his Sentence of Banishment, 

16. To a Child. 

17. " There's Death in the Pot." 

18. The Family Bible. 

19. The Patriot's Elysium. - 

20. What is Time ? 

21. Macbeth's Soliloquy. 

22. The Battle of Bannockburn. 

23. Henry V, at the Siege of Harfleui. 

24. Henry V, Encouraging his Soldiers. 

25 New-England's Dead. 

26 Ambition. - - « 

27. The Sailor. 

28. Beautiful Soliloquy. - 

29. To-Morrow. 

30. Elijah's Interview. 

31. Byron. 

32. Song of Mac Murrough. 

33. What is that, Mother? 

34. Woman. - • > 



Sigourney. 203 

Willis. 203 

Croly. 204 

Anonymous. 205 

Anonymous. 206 

Cunningham. 206 

Blackett. 207 

Anonymous. 208 

Jewsbury. 209 

Anonymous. 210 

Anonymous. 210 

Campbell. 211 

Anonymous. 212 

Anonymous. 213 

Croly. 214 

Yankee. 214 

Anonymous. 215 

Anonymous. 216 

Montgomery. 217 

Marsden. 218 

Shakspeare. 219 

Campbell. 219 

Shakspeare. 220 

Shakspeait. 221 

McLellan. 222 

Neal. 223 

Anonymous. 224 

Taylor. 225 

Cotton. 225 

Campbell. 226 

Pollok. 227 

Scott. 229 

Doane. 230 

Campbell. 231 



CONTENTS. 



IX 



SELECTION. 

85. Freedom. - 

36. The Graves of the Patriots. 

37. Influence of Hope at the Close of Life. 

38. Address to Sceptics. - 

39. Ambition. - 

40. Opposition of Characters. 

41. What's Hallowed Ground? 

42. Cassius Instigating Brutus against Caesar. • 

43. New-England. - 

44. Moloch's Oration for War. - 

45. Regulus before the Roman Senate. 

46. The Spider and the Bee. - 

47. The First Wanderer. - 

48. Caractacus. - 

49. Speech of Belial, Dissuading War. 

50. Death and the Drunkard. - 

51. Soliloquy from Manfred. - 

52. The Power of Eloquence. - 

53. Othello's Address to the Senate. 

54. Moloch and Satan, before the Powers of Hell. 

55. Description of an Ancient Battle in Scotland. 

56. Parrhasius. - 

57. Meeting of Satan and Death at the Gate of Hell. 

58. The Passions. - 

59. Alexander's Feast. .... 



PAGB 

Cowper. 232 

Percived. 233 

Campbell 234 

Campbell 235 

Willis. 236 

Pollok. 237 

Campbell 238 

Shakspeare. 239 

Percival 241 

Milton. 242 

Jewsbury. 244 

Anonymous. 245 

Jewsbury. 246 

Barton. 247 

Milton. 250 

Anonymous. 251 

Byron. 253 

Carey. 254 

Shakspeare. 256 

White. 257 

Scott. 259 

Viillis. 260 

Milton. 262 

Collins. 265 

Dryden. 267 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 



I. 


The Destruction of Senacherib. 


• 


• Byron. 


271 


2. 


The Field of Gilboa. 


• . 


Knox. 


271 


3. 


The Shield. 


• 


Moore. 


272 


4, 


The Child's First Grief. 


. 


Hemans. 


273 


5. 


The Gipsy Wanderer. 


. 


■ - Anonymous. 


274 


8. 


Glenara. ... 


. 


Campbell 


275 


7. 


The Song of Constance. 


. 


Scott. 


276 


8. 


The Orphan's Dream. 


. 


Anonymous. 


277 


9. 


Henry First, after the Death of his Son. 


» • Hemans. 


278 


10. 


Henry Fifth and the Hermit of Dreux. 


Southey. 


279 


11. 


The Wounded Soldier. - 


. 


Anonymous. 


280 


12. 


Andrew Jones. 


. - 


Wordsworth 


283 


13. 


The Widowed Mother. 


• 


Wilson. 


284 


14. 


The Mother and Child. 


... 


Abercrombie. 


285 


15. 


The Orphan. 


- 


Anonymous. 


286 


16, 


Mother, what is Death? 


... 


• Anonymous. 


287 


17. 


Cassabianca. 


. • • 


• • Hemans. 


288 


IS. 


The Battle of Busaco. 


• 


• Anonymous. 


289 


19. 


Pulaski's Banner. 


- 


* • Anonymous. 


290 


20. 


David's Lament over Absalom. 


... 


Willis. 


291 


21. 


The Dead Sister. 


... 


Anonymous. 


293 


22. 


Arnold Winkelried. 


... 


Montgomery. 


294 


£2. 


From Lalla Rookhs 


. 


Moore. 


295 



CONTENTS. 



SELECTION. 

24. Lochinvar. 

25. The Revelers. 

26. The Boy and Snake. - 

27. The Orphan Boy. 

28. The Dying Brigand. - 

29. The Vulture of the Alps. 

30. Ginevra. ... 

31. Celadon and Amelia. 

32. The Fireman. 

33. Battle of Waterloo. 

34. The Sailor-boy's Dream. 

35. The Neglected Child. 

36. Eliza. - 

37. Beth-Gelert ; or, the Death of the Grayhound. 

38. Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminondas of Modern Greece 

39. The Maniac. 

40. The Fatherless. 

41. Lament for La Fayette. - 

42. We are Seven. 

43. Alonzo the Brave. 

44. The Owl. 

45. The Maid of the Inn. 



PAGE. 

Scott, 296 

Anonymous. 297 

Leicester. 299 

Thelwall. 300 

Anonymous. 301 

Anonymous. 302 

Rogers. 304 

Thompson. 305 

Anonymous. 306 

Byron. 308 

Dimond. 309 

Bayly. 311 

Darwin. 312 

Spencer. 313 

Halleck. 315 

Lewis. 317 

Bayly, 318 

Anonymous. 32(1 

Wordsworth. 321 

Lewis. 323 

Anonymous. 326 

Southey 328 





COMIC AND AMUSING. 




1. 


To an Old Wig. ----- 


Anonymous. 


331 


2. 


The Child's Wish in June. - - - - 


Gilman. 


331 


3. 


The Infant Orator. - 


Everett. 


332 


4. 


The Apple-Dumplings, and George the Third. 


Wolcot. 


333 


5. 


The Directing Post. - 


Anonymous. 


333 


6. 


The Atheist and Acorn. - 


Anonymous. 


334 


7. 


The Ass and the Nightingale. - 


Krilov. 


335 


8. 


The Young Fly and the Old Spider. 


Wolcot. 


336 


9, 


Spectacles, or Helps to Read. 


Byrom. 


337 


10. 


The Schoolboy's Complaint. - 


Anonymous. 


338 


11. 


The Three Black Crows. - - - - 


Byrom. 


339 


12. 


The Gouty Merchant and the Stranger. 


Anonymous. 


340 


13. 


Misconception. - 


Anonymous. 


341 


14 


The Wind in a Frolic. - - - - 


Howit. 


342 


5 


Short Answers. - 


• - Anonymous. 


343 


16 


Lodgings for Single Gentlemen. - 


• Colman. 


344 


L7 


The Rich Man and the Poor Man. 


« • Khemnitzer. 


345 


18. 


Petition of Young Ladies. • 


- Anonymous. 


347 


19. 


The Ant and the Butterfly. 


• - Anonymous. 


348 


20. 


Logic. ------- 


Anonymous. 


349 


21. 


The Comet and the Great Bear. 


• - Anonymous. 


350 


22. 


The Pair of Beasts. - 


Anonymous. 


352 


23. 


Apology for the Pig. - 


Southey. 


352 


24. 


Hodge and the Vicar. .... 


Anonymous. 


353 


25. 


Paper — A Conversational Pleasantry. - 


• » Franklin. 


355 


26. 


Toby Tosspot 


• Colman 


Stf 



CONTENTS. 



XI 



•SUCTION. 

27. Frank Haymaa 

28. Christmas Times. 

29. The Cow and the Ass. 

30. The Frenchman and the Rats. 

31. Occasional Prologue. 

32. Occasional Epilogue. - 

33. The Modern Rake's Progress. 
4. The Magpie ; or Bad Company. 



P*GE. 

Taylor. 358 

Anonymous. 359 

Anonymous. 361 

Anonymous. 362 

Anonymous 364 

Anonymous. 365 

Hurdis. 366 

Anonymous. 36"i 



PART THIRD. 
DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 



1. Ths Chamber of Sickness. First Voice, Second Voice. - Colton. 371 

2. The Greek Orphan. Paspati, Ep-arninondas. - - Colton. 372 

3. The Churchyard. First Voice, Second Voice. - - Karamsin. 373 

4. Stranger, Child. - Hemans. 374 

5. Raimond, Procida. - . - - - - - Hemans. 376 

6. Mordent, Lenox. ----- Holcraft. 378 
7 Alberto, Theodore. ..-•». Anonymous. 379 

8. Athelwold, Edwin, Pilgrim. - Mason. &S1 

9. Caswallon, Fitz-Edward. ----- Walker. 382 

10. Verner, Tell, Pierre, Theodore, Sarnem, Michael, Soldiers and 

People. ------- Knowles. 384 

11. Druid, Elidurus, Arviragus. ----- Mason. 387 

12. Raimond, Procida. - - - - - Hemans. 389 

13. Hakon, Erling. ------ Anonymous. 391 

14. Essex, Southampton, Lieutenant of the Tower, Raleigh. • Jones. 393 

15. Caius Gracchus, Drusus. ----- Knowles. 396 

16. Rienzi, Colonna, Ursini, Frangipani, Cafarello, Angelo, Savelli, 

the Nuncio, Embassador, Nobles. - - - Mitford. 398 

17. Vanoc, Valens. ------- Anonymous. 401 

18. Gustavus Vasa, Sivard, Amoldus, Dalecarlians. - - Brooke. 404 

19. Durazzo, Garcia, Perez. - n - - . - - Haynes. 407 

20. Penruddock, Henry. ------ Cumberland. 410 

21. Catiline, Aurelius. - ... Croly. 413 

22. Douglas, Raby. ----.. -Moore. 416 

23. Verner, Albert, Tell. .... - Knowles. 419 

24 Prince Arthur, Hubert, Attendants. - Shahspeare. 422 

25 King Edward, Warwick, Suffolk,. • Franklin. 426 
2ft < aswallon, Mador, Fitz-Edward. .... Walker. 429 
V Bourbon, Gonzales. ----- Kemble. 433 

28 CoL Walsingham, Baron Hohendahl, Alasco. • • Shee. 437 

29 Saladin, Malek Adhel, Attendant. .... Anonymous. 442 

30. .sidore, Ordonio. ------ Coleridge. 447 

31 Virginius, Dentatus, Icilius, Appius, Titus, Servius, Lucius, 

Citizens. ----- Knowles. 452 

32. Procida, Montalba, Guido, Sicilians. - Hemans. 45? 

Scene Second. --..„- 45^ 



S3l 



CONTENTS. 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING 



1. Hot Cockles. Henry, Charles. - 

2. How to Tell Bad News. Mr. II., Steward. 

3. Lovegold, James. ... 

4. Alderman Smuggler, Sir Harry Wildair, John. 

5. Irish Courtesy. Stranger, O'Callaghan. 

6. Robin, Snacks, Servant. - 

7. , Mordent, Cheveril. ... 

8. Colonel Arden, Rissolle. - 

9. Captain Hardy, Nathan. - 

10. Sir Francis Wronghead, Manly. • 

11. King, Miller, Courtier. 

12. Ollapod, Sir Charles Cropland. 

13. Old Fickle, Tristram Fickle. 

14. Doctor Wisepate, Thady O'Keen, Robert. • 

15. Prince Henry, Falstaff. - 

16. Sir Philip Blandford, Ashfield. 

17. Indigestion. Dr. Gregory, Patient. 

18. Captain Tackle, Jack Bowlin. 

19. Robin Roughhead, Snacks, Villagers. - 



Anonymous 463 

Anonymous. 464 

Fielding. 465 

Anonymous. 466 

Sedley. 468 

Allingham. 470 

Holcroft. 472 

Anonymous. 474 

Anonymous. 470 

Cibber. 478 

Anonymous. 480 

Colman. 483 

Allingham. 485 

Oulton. 488 

Shakspeare. 491 

Morton. 494 

Anonymous. 496 

Anonymous. 498 

Allingham. 501 



POSITIONS OE THE HA^DS&FEET. 



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- - 














v 




OR AT ORIC A L OB STURES. 




ta 




OR AT ORIC AL G E S T1P L E S 




11 
POETIC AL GE S TURE S 






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POETICAL GESTURES. 




DIALOGUE 





TUB 



UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



PART FIRST. 



SPECIMENS OF AMERICAN ELOQUENCE, 



1. CHARACTER OF TRUE ELOQUENCE. Webster. 

When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occa* 
sions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions 
excited, nothing is valuable, in speech, farther than it is con- 
nected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clear- 
ness, force, and earnestness^ are the qualities which produce 
conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. 
It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for 
it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be mar- 
shalled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist 
in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected pas? 
sion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire 
after it— they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like 
the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting 
forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. 
The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments, and 
studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when 
their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and 
their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words 
have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory 
contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and siuV 
dued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriot? 
ism is eloquent; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The cleai 
conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose 
the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, 
beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the 

3 



14 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

whole man onward, right onward to his object- — this, this ig 
eloquence : or rather it is something greater and higher than 
Jl eloquence, — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action. 



2. causes of war. — Binney. 

What are sufficient causes of war let no man say, let no legis- 
lator say, until the question of war is directly and inevitably 
before him. Jurists may be permitted with comparative safety 
to pile tome upon tome of interminable disquisition upon the 
motives, reasons, and causes of just and unjust war. Meta- 
physicians may be suffered with impunity to spin the thread of 
their speculations until it is attenuated to a cobweb ; but for 
a body created for the government of a great nation, and for the 
adjustment and protection of its infinitely diversified interests, 
it is worse than folly to speculate upon the causes of war, until 
the great question shall be presented for immediate action — 
until they shall hold the united question of cause, motive, and 
present expediency, in the very palm of their hands. War is a 
tremendous evil. Come when it will, unless it shall come in 
the necessary defence of our national security, or of that honor 
under whose protection national security reposes, it will come 
too soon — too soon for our national prosperity — too soon for 
our individual happiness — too soon for the frugal, industrious, 
and virtuous habits of our citizens — too soon, perhaps, for our 
most precious institutions. The man who for any cause, save 
the sacred cause of public security, which makes all wars de- 
fensive — the man who for any cause but this shall promote or 
compel this final and terrible resort, assumes a responsibility 
second to none, nay, transcendently deeper and higher than any, 
which man can assume before* his fellow-men, or in the pre- 
sence of God, his Creator. 



3. tribute to Washington. — Harrison. 

Hard, hard indeed, was the contest for freedom, and the 
struggle for independence. The golden sun of liberty had 
nearly set in the gloom of an eternal night, ere its radiant beams 
illumined our western horizon. Had not the tutelar saint of 
Columbia hovered around the American camp, and presided 
over her destinies, freedom must have met with an untimely 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 13 

grave. Never can we sufficiently admire the wisdom of those 
statesmen, and the skill and bravery of those unconquerable 
veterans, who, by their unwearied exertions in the cabinet and 
in the field, achieved for us the glorious revolution. Never can 
we duly appreciate the merits of a Washington, who, with 
but a handful of undisciplined yeomanry, triumphed over a 
royal army, and prostrated the lion of England at the feet of the 
American Eagle. His name, —so terrible to his foes, so wel- 
come to his friends, — shall live for ever upon the brightest page 
o[ the historian, and be remembered with the warmest emotions 
of gratitude and pleasure by those whom he has contributed to 
make happy, and by all mankind, when kings, and princes, and 
nobles, for ages, shall have sunk into their merited oblivion. 
Unlike them, he needs not the assistance of the sculptor or the 
architect to perpetuate his memory : he needs no princely dome, 
no monumental pile, no stately pyramid, whose towering height 
shall pierce the stormy clouds, and rear its lofty head to heaven, 
to tell posterity his fame. His deeds, his worthy deeds, alone 
have rendered him immortal ! When oblivion shall have swept 
away thrones, kingdoms, and principalities — when every ves- 
tige of human greatness, and grandeur, and glory, shall have 
mouldered into dust, and the last period of time become extinct 
— eternity itself shall catch the glowing theme, and dwell with 
increasing rapture on his name ! 



4. necessity of resistance. — Henry. 

They tell us, that we are weak, unable to cope with so for 
midable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger 1 Will 
it be the next week, or the next year 1 W T ill it be when we are 
totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed 
in every house ? Shall we gather strength by irresolution, and 
inaction ? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, 
by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phan- 
tom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and 
foot 1 Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those 
means which the God of nature hath placed in our power, 
Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, 
and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible 
by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, 
sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just GodV 
who presides over the destinies of nations ; and who will rais ■ 
up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to 



16 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

the strong alone, it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. 
Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to 
desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There 
is no retreat, but in submission and slavery. Our chains are 
forged Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. 
The war is inevitable, and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it 
come ! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen 
may cry peace, peace ! but there is no peace. The war is 
actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the north 
will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! Our 
brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here idle ? 
What is it that gentlemen wish ? What would they have ? Is 
life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price 
of chains and slavery ? Forbid it Almighty God ! I know not 
what course others may take ; but as for me-^give me liberty ; 
or give me death ! 



5. CHARACTER OF PATRIOTIC TRIUMPH.— Maxcy. 

'I'he citizens of America celebrate that day which gave birth 
to their liberties. The recollection of this event, replete with 
consequences so beneficial to mankind, swells every heart with 
joy and fills every tongue with praise. We celebrate not the 
sanguinary exploits of a tyrant to subjugate and enslave mill- 
ions of his fellow-creatures ; we celebrate neither the birth nor 
the coronation of that phantom styled a king ; but the resurrec- 
tion of liberty, the emancipation of mankind, the regeneration 
of the world. These are the sources of our joy, these the 
causes of our triumph. We pay no homage at the tomb of 
kings, to sublime our feelings — we trace no line of illustrious 
ancestors to support our dignity— -we recur to no usages, sanc- 
tioned by the authority of the great, to protect our rejoicing ; — 
no, we love liberty, we glory in the rights of men, we glory in 
independence. On whatever part of God's creation a human 
form pines under chains, there Americans drop their tears. 

A dark cloud once shaded this beautiful quarter of the globe 
Consternation for awhile agitated the hearts of the inhabitants 
War desolated our fields, and buried our vales in blood. Bui 
the day-spring from on high soon opened upon us its glittering 
portals. The angel of liberty descending, dropped on Washing- 
ton's brow the wreath of victory, and stamped on American free- 
dom the seal of omnipotence. The darkness is past, and the 
true light now shines to enliven and rejoice mankind. W* 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE 17 

tread a new earth, in which dwelleth righteousness ; and view a 
new heaven, flaming with inextinguishable stars. Our feet will 
no more descend into the vale of oppressions ; our shoulders 
will no more bend under the weight of a foreign domination as 
cruel as it was unjust. Well may we rejoice at the return of this 
glorious anniversary ; a day dear to every American ; a day to 
be had in everlasting remembrance ; a day whose light circu- 
lates joy through the hearts of all republicans, and terror 
through the hearts of all tyrants. 



O. INFLUENCE OF THE PRINCIPLES OF AMERICAN GOVERN- 
MENT. — Webster. 

Our country stands, at the present time, on commanding 
ground. Older nations, with different systems of government, 
may be somewhat slow to acknowledge all that justly belongs 
to us. But we may feel, without vanity, that America is doing 
her part in the great work of improving human affairs. There 
are two principles, gentlemen, strictly and purely American, 
which are now likely to overrun the civilized world. Indeed, 
they seem the necessary result of the progress of civilization 
and knowledge. These are, first, popular governments, re- 
strained by written constitutions ; and, secondly, universal educa- 
tion. Popular governments and general education, acting and 
reacting, mutually producing and reproducing each other, are 
the mighty agencies which, in our days, appear to be exciting, 
stimulating, and changing civilized societies. Man, every- 
where, is now found demanding a participation in government 
— and he will not be refused ; and he demands knowledge as 
necessary to self-government. On the basis of these two 
principles, liberty and knowledge, our own American systems 
rest. Thus far, we have not been disappointed in their results. 
Our existing institutions, raised on these foundations, have 
conferred on us almost unmixed happiness. As parents, do we 
wish for our children better government or better laws 1 As 
members of society, as lovers of our country, is there any 
thing we can desire for it better than, that, as ages and centu- 
ries roll over it, it may possess the same invaluable institutions 
which it now enjoys ? For my part, gentlemen, I can only 
say, that I desire to thank the beneficent Author of all good, 
for being born where I was born, and when I was born ; that 
the portion of human existence, allotted to me, has been meted 
out to me in this goodly land, and at this interesting period, 

2* 



18 UNITED STATES SPEAKER, 

I rejoice that I have lived to see so much development of truth 
—so much progress of liberty — so much diffusion of virtue and 
happiness. And, through good report and evil report, it will 
oe my consolation to be a citizen of a republic unequalled in 
the annals of the world, for the freedom of its institutions, its 
high prosperity, and the prospects of good which lie before it. 
Our course, gentlemen, is onward, straight onward, and forward. 
Let us net turn to the right hand, nor to the left. Our path is 
marked out for us, clear, plain, bright, distinctly defined, like 
the milky-Way across the heavens. If we are true to our 
country, in our day and generation, arid those who come after 
us shall be true to it also, assuredly, assuredly, we shall elevate 
her to a pitch of prosperity and happiness, of honor and power, 
never yet reached by any nation beneath the sun. 



t. the mora! effects of intemperance. — Beecher. 

The sufferings of animal nature occasioned by intemperance, 
my friends, are not to be compared with the moral agonies 
which convulse the soul. It is an immortal being, who sins 
and suffers ; and, as his earthly house dissolves, he is ap- 
proaching the judgment-seat, in anticipation of a miserable 
eternity. Ho feels his captivity, and in anguish of spirit clanks 
his chain and cries for help. Conscience thunders, remorse 
goads, arid, as the gulph opens before him, he recoils, arid 
trembles, and weeps, arid prays, and resolves, and promises, 
and reforms, and "seeks it yet again," again resolves, and 
Weeps, and prays, and " seeks it yet again !" Wretched man ! 
he has placed himself in the hands of a giant, who never 
pities, and never relaxes his iron gripe. He may struggle, but 
he is in chains. He may cry for release, but it comes not ; 
and lost ! lost ! may be inscribed upon the door-posts of his 
dwelling. In the meantime these paroxysms of his dying 
moral nature decline, and a fearful apathy, the harbinger of 
spiritual death, comes on. His resolution fails, and his mental 
energy, and his vigorous enterprise ; and nervous irritation and 
depression ensue. The social affections lose their fulness and 
tenderness, and conscience loses its power, and the heart its 
sensibility, until all that was once lovely and of good report 
retires, and leaves the wretch abandoned to the appetites of a 
ruined animal. In this deplorable condition, reputation expires, 
business falters and becomes perplexed, and temptations to 
drink multiply, as inclination to do so increases, and the power 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 19 

of resistance declines. And now the vortex roars, and the 
struggling victim buffets the fiery wave with feebler stroke, 
and warning supplication, until despair flashes upon his soul, 
and, with an outcry that pierces the heavens, he ceases to strive, 
and disappears. 



8. the best of classics. — Grimke. 

There is a classic, the best the world has ever seen, the 
noblest that has ever honored and dignified the language of 
mortals. If we look into its antiquity, we discover a title to 
our veneration, unrivalled in the history of literature. If we 
have respect to its evidences, they are found in the testimony 
of miracle and prophecy ; in the ministry of man, of nature 
and of angels, yea, even of " God, manifest in the flesh," of 
" God, blessed for ever." If we consider its authenticity, no 
other pages have survived the lapse of time, that can be com- 
pared with it. If we examine its authority, for it speaks as 
never man spake, we discover, that it came from heaven, in 
vision and prophecy, under the sanction of Him. who is Creator 
of all things, and the Giver of every good and perfect gift. 
If we reflect on its truths, they are lovely and spotless, sublime 
and holy, as God himself, unchangeable as his nature, durable 
as his righteous dominion, and versatile as the moral condition 
of mankind. If we regard the value of its treasures, we must 
estimate them, not like the relics of classic antiquity, by the 
perishable glory and beauty, virtue and happiness of this world, 
but by the enduring perfection and supreme felicity of an eternal 
kingdom. If we inquire, who are the men, that have recorded 
its truths, vindicated its rights, and illustrated the excellence 
of its scheme — from the depth of ages and from the living 
world, from the populous continent and the isles of the sea— =- 
comes forth the answer — the patriarch and the prophet, the 
evangelist and the martyr. If we look abroad through the 
world of men, the victims of folly or vice, the prey of cruelty, 
or injustice, and inquire what are its benefits, even in this 
temporal state, the great and the humble, the rich and the poor f 
the powerful and the weak, the learned and the ignoran reply, 
as with one voice, that humility and resignation, purity, order 
and peace, faith, hope and charity, are its blessings upon earth. 
And. if, raising our eyes from time to eternity, from the world 
of mortals to the world of just men made perfect, from the 
visible creation, marvellous-, beautiful and glorious as it is, to the 



20 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

invisible creation of angels and seraphs, from the footstool of 
God, to the throne of God himself, we ask, what are the 
blessings that flow from this single volume, let the question be 
answered by the pen of the evangelist, the harp of the prophet, 
and the records of the book of life. 

Such is the best of classics the world has ever admired , 
such, the noblest that man has ever adopted as a guide. 



9 TWO CENTURIES FROM THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS. — 

Crafts. 

If, on this day, after the lapse of two centuries, one of the 
fathers of New-England, released from the sleep of death, 
could reappear on earth, what would be his emotions of joy 
and wonder ! In lieu of a wilderness, here and there inter- 
spersed with solitary cabins, where life was scarcely worth 
the danger of preserving it, he would behold joyful harvests, 
a population crowded even to satiety — villages, towns, cities, 
states, swarming with industrious inhabitants, hills graced with 
temples of devotion, and vallies vocal with the early lessons of 
virtue. Casting his eye on the ocean, which he passed in fear 
and trembling, he would see it covered with enterprising fleets 
returning with the whale as their captive, and the wealth of 
the Indies for their cargo. He would behold the little colony 
which he planted, grown into gigantic stature, and forming an 
honorable part of a glorious confederacy, the pride of the earth 
a^d the favorite of heaven. 

He would witness with exultation the general prevalence of 
correct principles of government and virtuous habits of action. 
How gladly would he gaze upon the long stream of light and 
renown from Harvard's classic fount, and the kindred springs 
of Yale, of Providence, of Dartmouth and of Brunswick. Would 
you fill his bosom with honest pride, tell him of Franklin, who 
made thunder sweet music, and the lightning innocent fire 
works — of Adams, the venerable sage reserved by heaven, 
himself a blessing, to witness its blessing on our nation — of 
Ames, whose tongue became, and has become an angels — 
of Perry, 

" Blest by his God with one illustrious day, 
A blaze of glory, ere he passed away." 

And tell him, pilgrim of Plymouth, these are thy descendants 
Show him the stately structures, the splendid benevolence, 
the masculine intellect, and the sweet hospitality of the me- 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 21 

tropolis of New-England. Show him that immortal vessel, 
whose name is synonymous with triumph, and each of her 
masts a sceptre. Show him the glorious fruits of his humble 
enterprise, and ask him if this, all this be not an atonement for 
his sufferings, a recompense for his toils, a blessing on his 
efforts, and a heart-expanding triumph for the pilgrim adven- 
turer. 

And if he be proud of his offspring, well may they boast ol 
their parentage. 



10. THE HEROES OF THE LAST WAR. Dorsey. 

Sir, — As a military commander, General Jackson assuredly 
deserves to be ranked with the most eminent. In decision of 
character, in resoluteness and perseverance in action, in ardor 
of spirit and force of volition, he has probably few superiors. 
But survey the list of heroes, who crowned themselves with 
laurels during the last war, and ask yourselves if some of them 
too did not perform splendid achievements > worthy of legislative 
commemoration. 

Sir, where is Croghan, the chivalrous Croghan ? At an age, 
when it can scarcely be supposed that his mind was imbued in 
the elementary principles of military knowledge, he performed 
a series of splendid actions* the sublimity of which partakes 
more of romance than military history. Where is the lamented 
Lawrence, who grappled with his foe till humanity wept and 
tore down the flag— and, when in the agonies of death, he 
wrapped himself up in his country's flag, and convulsively 
articulated the energetic words* " don't give up the ship." 

" The light which led him on, 
Was light from Heaven*" 

Sir, the most triumphant death, is that of the martyr ; the 
most awful, that of the martyred patriot ; the most splendid, 
that of the hero in the moment of victory ; and if the Phaeton 
and horses of fire had been destined for Lawrence's translation, 
he could scarcely have departed in a brighter blaze of glory. 

W r here, sir, are the names of the highminded, magnanimous 
Perry, the gallant Decatur, the stern and inflexible Porter, 
Brown, Scott, Ripley, and Harrison ? Poetry may attempt to 
delineate their actions — the chisel of Praxitiles may essay it — ■ 
the republican historian may record the dry details of their 
various achievements, but the intense interest, the deep passion. 



22 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

and the high patriotism which prompted these warriors to acts 
of daring and bravery, and wrapped their country in one uni- 
versal blaze of glory, can never be fairly impressed. Genius is 
unequal to the task. 



11. A CENTURY FROM THE BIRTH OF WASHINGTON. Webster 

Gentlemen, we are at the point of a century from the birth 
of Washington ; and what a century it has been ! During its 
course, the human mind has seemed to proceed with a sort of 
geometric velocity, accomplishing, for human intelligence, and 
human freedom, more than had been done in fives or tens of 
centuries preceding. Washington stands at the commencement 
of a new era, as well as at the head of the new world. A 
century trom the birth of Washington has changed the world. 
The country of Washington has been the theatre on which a 
great part of that change has been wrought ; and Washington 
himself a principal agent by which it has been accomplished. 
His age and his ^country are equally full of wonders ! and of 
both he is the chief. 

If the prediction of the poet, uttered a few years before his 
birth, be true : if indeed it be designed by Providence that the 
grandest exhibition of human character and human affairs shall 
be made on this theatre of the western world ; if it be true that, 

" The four first acts already past, 
A fifth shall close the drama with the day ; 
Time's noblest offspring is the last ;" 

how could this imposing, swelling, final scene, be appropriately 
opened, how could its intense interest be adequately sustained, 
but by the introduction of just such a character as our Washington? 
Washington had attained his manhood when that spark of 
liberty was struck out in his own country, which has since 
kindled into a flame, and shot its beams over the earth. In 
the flow of a century from his birth, the world has changed in 
science, in arts, in the extent of commerce, in the improvement 
of navigation, and in all that relates to the civilization of man. 
But it is the spirit of human freedom, the new elevation of 
individual man, in his moral, social, and political character, 
leading the whole long train of other improvements, which has 
most remarkably distinguished the era. Society, in this century, 
has not made its progress, like Chinese skill, by a greater 
acuteness of ingenuity in trifles ; it has not merely lashed 



AMERICAN" ELOQUENCE. 23 

itself to an increased speed round the old circles of thought 
and action ; but it has assumed a new character ; it has raised 
itself from beneath governments to a participation in govern- 
ments ; it has mixed moral and political objects with the daily 
pursuits of individual men ; and, with a freedom and strength . 
before altogether unknown, it has applied to these objects the 
whole power of the human understanding. It has been the 
era, in short, when the social principle has triumphed over the 
feudal principle ; when society has maintained its rights against 
military power, and established, on foundations never hereafter 
to be shaken, its competency to govern itself. 



12. SCOTLAND. — Flagg. 

Scotland ! — There is magic in the sound. — Statesmen- 
scholars — divines — heroes and poets — do you want exemplars 
worthy of study and imitation '? Where will you find them 
brighter than in Scotland ? Where can you find them purer 
than in Scotland ? Here no Solon, indulging imagination, has 
pictured the perfectibility of man. No Lycurgus, viewing him 
through the medium of human frailty alone, has left for his 
government an iron code graven on eternal adamant. No Plato, 
dreaming in the luxurious gardens of the Academy, has fancied 
what he should be, and bequeathed a republic of love. But 
sages, knowing their weakness, have appealed to his under- 
standing, cherished his virtues, and chastised his vices. 

Friends of learning ! would you do homage at the shrine 
of literature ? Would you visit her clearest founts ? — Go to 
Scotland. Are you philosophers, seeding to explore the hidden 
mysteries of mind ? — Bend to the genius of Stewart ! Student; 
merchant, or mechanic, do you seek usefulness ? — Consult the 
pages of Black and of Adam Smith. Grave barrister ! would 
you know the law — the true, the sole expression of the people's 
will ? — There stands the mighty Mansfield ! 

Servants of Him, whose name is above every other name, 
and not to be mentioned— recur to days that are past ; to days 
that can never be blotted from the history of the church. Visit 
the mountains of Scotland ; contemplate the stern Cameronian, 
the rigid covenanter, the enduring puritan. Follow them to 
their burrows beneath the earth ; to their dark, bleak caverns 
in the rocks. See them hunted like beasts of prey. See them 
emaciated, worn with disease, clung with famine — yet laboring 
with supernatural zeal in feeding the hungry with that bread 



24 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

which gives life forevermore. Go view them, and when you 
preach faith, hope, charity, fortitude and long-suffering — forget 
them not; the meek, the bold, the patient, gallant Puritans 
of Scotland. 

Land of the mountain, the torrent and dale !— Do we look 
for high examples of noble daring ? Where shall we find them 
brighter than in Scotland ? From the " bonny highland neither" 
of her lofty summits, to the modest lily of the vale, not a 
flower but has blushed with patriot blood. From the proud 
foaming crest of Solway, to the calm polished breast of Loch 
Katrine, not a river or lake but has swelled with the life-tide 
of freemen ! Would you witness greatness ? — Contemplate a 
Wallace and a Bruce. They fought not for honors, for party, 
for conquest. — 'Twas for their country and their country's good ; 
religion, liberty and law. Would you ask for chivalry ? — that 
high and delicate .sense of honor, which deems a stain upon 
one's country as individual disgrace ; that moral courage which 
measures danger, and meets it against known odds ; that patriot 
valor, which would rather repose on a death-bed of laurels 
than flourish in wealth and power under the night shade of 
despotism ?— Citizen soldier ! turn to Lochiel ; " proud bird of 
the mountain !" Though pierced with the usurper's arrow, his 
plumage still shines through the cloud of oppression, lighting 
to honor all who nobly dare to "do or die." 

Where then can we better look for all that is worthy of 
honest ambition, than to Scotland ? 



13. EULOGY ON HAMILTON.— MzStfn. 

He was born to be great. Whoever was second, Hamilton 
must be first. To his stupendous and versatile mind no inves- 
tigation was difficult — no subject presented which he did not 
illuminate. Superiority in some particular, belongs to thou- 
sands. Pre-eminence, in whatever he chose to undertake, was 
he prerogative of Hamilton. No fixed criterion could be ap- 
plied to his talents. Often has their display been supposed to 
Ciave reached the limit of human effort ; and the judgment stood 
firm till set aside by himself. When a cause of new magni- 
tude required new exertions, he rose, he towered, he soared ; 
surpassing himself as he surpassed others. Then was nature 
tributary to his eloquence ! Then was felt his despotism over 
the heart ! Touching, at his pleasure, every string of pity or 
terror, of indignation or grief, he melted, he soothed, he roused, 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 25 

he agitated ; alternately gentle as the dews, and awful as the 
thunder. Yet, great as he was in the eyes of the world, he 
was greater in the eyes of those with whom he was most 
conversant. The greatness of most men, like objects seen 
through a mist, diminishes with the distance : but Hamilton, 
like a tower seen afar off under a clear sky, rose in grandeur 
and sublimity with every step of approach. Familiarity with 
him was the parent of veneration. Over these matchless tal- 
ents, probity threw her brightest lustre. Frankness, suavity, 
tenderness, benevolence, breathed through their exercise. And 
to his family! — but he is gone — That noble heart beats no 
more : that eye of fire is dimmed ; and sealed are those oracu- 
lar lips. Americans, the serenest beam of your glory is ex- 
tinguished in the tomb ! 

The death of Hamilton is no common affliction. The loss 
of distinguished men is, at all times, a calamity ; but the loss 
of such a man, at such a time, and in the very meridian of his 
usefulness, is singularly portentous. When Washington was 
taken, Hamilton was left — but Hamilton is taken, and we have 
no Washington. We have not such another man to die ! 
Washington and Hamilton in five years ! — Bereaved America ! 



14. FRENCH AGGRESSIONS. Pai7l8. 

The solemn oath of America has ascended to Heaven. She 
has sworn to preserve her independence, her religion and her 
laws, or nobly perish in their defense, and be buried in the 
wrecks of her empire. To the fate of our government is 
united the fate of our country. The convulsions that destroy 
the one, must desolate the other. Their destinies are inter- 
woven, and they must triumph or fall together. Where then is 
the man, so hardened in political iniquity, as to advocate the 
victories of French arms, which would render his countrymen 
slaves, or to promote the diffusion of French principles, which 
would render them savages ? Can it be doubted, that the pike 
of a French soldier is less cruel and ferocious than the fra- 
ternity of a French philosopher 1 Where is the youth in this 
assembly, who could, without agonized emotions, behold the 
Gallic invader hurling the brand of devastation into the dwelling 
of his father ; or with sacrilegious cupidity plundering the com- 
munion table of his God ? Who could witness, without indig- 
nant desperation, the mother who bore him, inhumanly murdered, 
in the defense of her infants ? Who could hear, without frantic 

3 



26 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

horror, the shrieks of a sister, flying from pollution, and leaping 
from the blazing roof, to impale herself on the point of a hal- 
berd ? " If any, speak, fcr him have I offended !" No, my fellow- 
citizens, these scenes are never to be witnessed by American 
eyes. The souls of your ancestors still live in the bosoms of 
their descendants ; and rather than submit this fair land of 
their inheritance to ravage and dishonor, from hoary age to 
helpless infancy, they will form one united bulwark, and oppose 
their breasts to the assailing foe. Not one shall survive, to be 
enslaved ; for ere the tri-colored flag shall wave over our pros- 
trate republic, the bones of four millions of Americans shall 
whiten the shores of their country ! This depopulated region 
shall be as desolate as its original wilderness ; the re-vege- 
tating forest shall cover the ruins of our cities ; and the savage 
shall return from the mountains, and again rear his hut in the 
abode of his forefathers. Then shall commence the millenium 
of political illumination ; and Frenchmen and wolves, " one and 
indivisible," nightly chant their barbarous orgies, to celebrate 
the philosophic empire of democracy ! 



15. INTELLIGENCE NECESSARY TO PERPETUATE INDEPEN- 
DENCE. — Dawes. 

That education is one of the deepest principles of indepen- 
dence, need not be labored in this assembly. In arbitrary gov- 
ernments, where the people neither make the law nor choose 
those who legislate, the more ignorance the more peace. But 
in a government where the people fill all the branches of the 
sovereignty, intelligence is the life of liberty. An American 
would resent his being denied the use of his musket ; but 
he would deprive himself of a stronger safeguard, if he should 
want that learning which is necessary to a knowledge of the 
constitution. It is easy to see that our Agrarian law and the 
law of education were calculated to make republicans, to make 
men. Servitude could never long consist with the habits of such 
citizens. Enlightened minds and virtuous manners lead to the 
gates of glory. The sentiment of independence must have been 
connatural in the bosoms of Americans ; and sooner or later, 
must have blazed out into public action. Independence fits the 
soul of her residence for every noble enterprise of humanity 
and greatness. Her radiant smile lights up celestial ardor in 
pools and orators, who sound her praises through all ages ; in 
legislators and philosophers, who fabricate wise and happj 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 27 

governments as dedications to her fame ; in patriots and heroes, 
who shed their lives in sacrifice to her divinity. At this idea, 
do not our minds swell with the memory of those whose godlike 
virtues have founded her most magnificent temple in America ? 
It is easy for us to maintain her doctrines, at this late day, when 
there is out one party on the subject, an immense people. But 
what tribute shall we bestow, what sacred paean shall we raise 
ove*r the tombs of those who dared, in the face of unrivalled 
power, and within the reach of majesty, to blow the blast of 
freedom throughout a subject continent ? Nor did those brave 
countrymen of ours only express the emotions of glory ; the 
nature of their principles inspired them with the power of 
practice, and they offered their bosoms to the shafts of battle. 
Bunker's aw T ful mount is the capacious urn of their ashes ; but 
the flaming bounds of the universe could not limit the flight of 
their minds. They fled to the union of kindred souls ; and 
those who fell at the strait of Thermopylae, and those who bled 
on the heights of Charlestown, now reap congenial joys in the 
fields of the blessed. 



16. THE LOSS OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. MdXCy. 

The loss of a firm national character, or the degradation of 
a nation's honor, is the inevitable prelude to her destruction. 
Behold the once proud fabric of a Roman empire— an empire 
carrying its arts and arms into every part of the eastern conti- 
nent ; the monarchs of mighty kingdoms dragged at the wheels 
of her triumphal chariots ; her eagle waving over the ruins of 
desolated countries. Where is her splendor, her wealth, her 
power, her glory? Extinguished for ever. Her moldering 
temples, the mournful vestiges of her former grandeur, afford a 
shelter to her muttering monks. Where are her statesmen, her 
sages, her philosophers, her orators, her generals ? Go to their 
solitary tombs and inquire. She lost her national character, and 
her destruction followed. The ramparts of her national pride 
were broken down, and Vandalism desolated her classic fields. 

Citizens will lose their respect and confidence in our gov- 
ernment, if it does not extend over them the shield of an honor- 
able national character. Corruption will creep in and sharpen 
party animosity. Ambitious leaders will seize upon the favor- 
able moment. The mad enthusiasm for revolution will call into 
action the irritated spirit of our nation, and civil war must fol 
low The swords of our countrymen may yet glitter on om 
mountains, their blood may vet crimson our plains. 



28 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Such — the warning voice of all antiquity, the example of all 
republics proclaim — may be our fate. But let us no longer in- 
dulge these gloomy anticipations. The commencement of our 
liberty presages the dawn of a brighter period to the world. 
That bold, enterprising spirit which conducted our heroes to 
peace and safety, and gave us a lofty rank amid the empires of 
the world, still animates the bosoms of their descendants. Look 
back to that moment when they unbarred the dungeons of the 
slave, and dashed his fetters to the earth, when the sword of a 
Washington leaped from its scabbard to revenge the slaughter 
of our countrymen. Place their example before you. Let the 
sparks of their veteran wisdom flash across your minds, and 
the sacred altars of your liberty, crowned with immortal hon- 
ors, rise before you. Relying on the virtue, the courage^ the 
patriotism, and the strength of our country, we may expect our 
national character will become more energetic, our citizens 
more enlightened, and may hail the age as not far distant, when 
will be heard, as the proudest exclamation of man : I am an 
American. 



17. THE TOMAHAWK SUBMISSIVE TO THE SPIRIT OF ELOQUENCE 

—Neal. 

Twenty tomahawks were raised ; twenty arrows drawn to 
their head. Yet stood Harold, stern and collected — at bay — 
parleying only with his sword. He waved his arm. Smitten 
with a sense of their cowardice, perhaps, or by his great dig- 
nity, more awful for his very youth, their weapons dropped, and 
iheir countenances were uplifted upon him, less in hatred, than 
in wonder. 

The old men gathered about him — he leaned upon his sabre. 
Their eyes shone with admiration — such heroic deportment, in 
one so young — a boy ! so intrepid ! so prompt ! so graceful ! 
so eloquent, too ! — for, knowing the effect of eloquence, and 
feeling the loftiness of his own nature, the innocence of his 
own heart, the character of the Indians for hospitality, and their 
veneration for his blood, Harold dealt out the thunder of his 
strength to these rude barbarians of the wilderness, till they, 
young and old, gathering nearer and nearer in their devotion, 
threw down their weapons at his feet, and formed a rampart of 
locked arms and hearts about him, through which his eloquence 
thrilled and lightened like electricity. The old greeted him 
with a lofty step, as the patriarch welcomes his boy from the 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 29 

triumph of far-off battle ; and the young clave to him and clung 
to him, and shouted in their self-abandonment, like brothers 
round a conquering brother. 

" Warriors !" he said, " Brethren !" — (their tomahawks were 
brandished simultaneously, at the souna of his terrible voice, as 
if preparing for the onset.) His tones grew deeper, and less 
threatening. " Brothers ! let us talk together of Logan ! Ye 
who have* known him, ye aged men ! bear ye testimony to the 
deeds of his strength. Who w T as like him ? W T ho could resist 
him ? Who may abide the hurricane in its volley ? Who may 
withstand the winds that uproot the great trees of the mountain ? 
Let him be the foe of Logan. Thrice in one day hath he 
given battle. Thrice in one day hath he come back victorious. 
Who may bear up against the strong man 1 the man of war ? 
Let them that are young, hear me. Let them follow the course 
of Logan. He goes in clouds and whirlwind — in the fire and 
in the smoke. Let them follow him. 

" Warriors ! Logan was the father of Harold !" 
They fell back in astonishment, but they believed him ; for 
Harold's word was unquestioned, undoubted evidence, to them 
that knew him. 



18. EFFECTS OF PROTESTANTISM. Haven. 

It has been remarked, my friends, by those who have xea- 
soned most profoundly upon the constitution of society, that 
the human mind has never, in modern times, attained its full and 
perfect maturity, but among the protestant nations of Christen- 
dom. In reviewing the splendid career of human intelligence, 
daring the three last centuries, it is impossible not to ascribe 
much of its progress to the reformation of Luther. That great 
man gave an impulse to society which it has ever since pre- 
served. He taught men to examine, to reason, to inquire. He 
unfolded to their wondering gaze, a form of moral beauty, which 
had been too long shrouded from their eyes by the timid dog- 
matism of the papal church. 

It is to protestant Christianity, gentlemen, that you are in- 
debted for the noblest exercise of your rational powers. It is 
to protestant Christianity, that you owe the vigor of your intel- 
lectual exertions and the purity of your moral sentiments. I 
could easily show you how much the manliness of English lit- 
erature, and the fearless intrepidity of German speculation, and 
how much even of the accurate sciences of France, may be 

3* 



30 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

■ 

ascribed to the spirit of protestant Christianity. It is from the 
influence of this spirit, that the sublime astronomy of La Place 
has not been, like that of Galileo, condemned as heretical. It 
is to protestant Christianity, that you owe the English Bible ; 
volume that has done more to correct and refine the taste, to 
elevate the imagination, to fill the mind with splendid and glow- 
ing images, than all the literature which the stream of time has 
brought down to the present age. I hope I am not laying an 
unhallowed hand upon the ark of God, if I presume to recom- 
mend the Bible to you as an object of literary enthusiasm. The 
Bible !— Where in the compass of human literature, can the 
fancy be so elevated by sublime description, can the heart be 
so warmed by simple, unaffected tenderness ! Men of genius ! 
who delight in bold and magnificent speculation, in the Bible 
you have a new world of ideas opened to your range. Vota- 
ries of eloquence ! in the Bible you will find the grandest thoughts 
clothed in a simple majesty, worthy of the subject and the 
Author. Servants of God! I need not tell you that the glories 
of immortality are revealed in language, which mortal lips had 
never before employed ! But I forbear. The Bible is in your 
hands ; and even now, while I am speaking its praise, " it is 
silently fulfilling its destined course ;" it is raising many a heart 
to the throne of God 



19. THE TRUE SOURCES OF NATIONAL GREATNESS. Harper. 

When France shall at length be convinced that we are firmly 
resolved to call forth all our resources, and exert all our strength 
to resist her encroachments and aggressions, she will soon de- 
sist from them. She need not be told what these resources are ; 
she well knows their greatness and extent ; she well knows that 
this country, if driven into a war, could soon become invulnera- 
ble to her attacks, and could throw a most formidable and pre- 
ponderating weight into the scale of her adversary. She will 
not, therefore, drive us to this extremity, but will desist as soon 
as she finds us determined. If our means of injury and of 
repelling her attacks were less than they are, still they might 
be rendered all-sufficient, by resolution and courage. It is in 
these that the strength of nations consists, and not in fleets, nor 
armies, nor population, nor money : in the " unconquerable will 
• — the courage never to submit or yield." These are the true 
sources of national greatness ; and to use the words of a cele- 
brated writer, — " where these means are not wanting, all others 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 31 

will be found or created." It was by these means that Holland, 
in the days of her glory, triumphed over the mighty power of 
Spain. It was by these that in later times, and in the course 
of the present war, the Swiss, a people not half so numerous 
as we, and possessing few of our advantages, have honorably 
maintained their neutrality amid the shock of surrounding states, 
and against the haughty aggressions of France herself. It was 
this that made Rome the mistress of the world, and Athens the 
protectress of Greece. When was it that Rome attracted most 
strongly the admiration of mankind, and impressed the deepest 
sentiment of fear on the hearts of her enemies ? It was when 
seventy thousand of her sons lay bleeding at Cannae, and Han- 
nibal, victorious over three Roman armies and twenty nations, 
was thundering at her gates. It w T as then that the young and 
heroic Scipio, having sworn on his sword in the presence of the 
fathers of the country, not to despair of the republic, marched 
forth at the head of a people, firmly resolved to conquer or die ; 
and that resolution insured them the victory. When did Athens 
appear the greatest and the most formidable 1 It was when 
giving up their houses and possessions to the flames of the 
enemy, and having transferred their wives, their children, their 
aged parents, and the symbols of their religion, on board of 
their fleet, they resolved to consider themselves as the republic, 
and their ships as their country. It was then that they struck 
that terrible blow, under which the greatness of Persia sunk 
and expired. 



20. GRATEFUL TRIBUTE TO THE HEROES OF THE REVOLU- 
TION. — Lathrop. 

It is my pleasing duty, my fellow-citizens, to felicitate you 
on the establishment of our national sovereignty ; and among 
the various subjects for congratulation and rejoicing, this is not 
the most unimportant, that heaven has spared so many veterans 
in the art of war ; so many sages, who are versed in the best 
politics of peace ; men, who are able to instruct and to govern, 
and whose faithful services, whose unremitted exertions to pro- 
mote the public prosperity, entitle them to our firmest confidence 
and warmest gratitude. Uniting in the celebration of this an- 
niversary, I am happy to behold many of the illustrious remnant 
of that band of patriots, who, despising danger and death, de- 
termined to be free, or gloriously perish in the cause. Their 
co lmteninces beam inexpressible delight ; our joys are increased 



32 UNITED STATES SPEAKER- 

bv their presence ; our raptures are heightened by their par* 
tfcipation. The feelings, which inspired them in the " times 
which tried men's souls," are communicated to our bosoms. 
We catch the divine spirit which impelled them to bid defiance 
to the congregated host of despots. We swear to preserve the 
blessings they toiled to gain, which they obtained by the inces- 
sant labors of eight distressful years ; to transmit to our pos- 
terity, our right undiminished, our honor untarnished, and our 
freedom unimpaired. 

On the last page of fate's eventful volume, with the raptured 
ken of prophecy, I behold Columbia's name recorded ; her 
future honors and happiness inscribed. In the same important 
book, the approaching end of tyranny and the triumph of right 
and justice are written in indelible characters. The struggle 
will soon be over ; the tottering thrones of despots will quickly 
fall, and bury their proud incumbents in their massy ruins. 

" Then peace on earth shall hold her easy sway, 
And man forget his brother man to slay. 
To martial arts, shall milder arts succeed ; 
Who blesses most, shall gain th* immortal meed. 
The eye of pity shall be pained no more, 
With vict'ry's crimson banners stained with gore. 
Thou glorious era come ! Hail, blessed time ! 
When full orbed freedom shall unclouded shine ; 
When the chaste muses, cherished by her rays, 
In olive groves shall tune their sweetest lays — 
When bounteous Ceres shall direct her car, 
O'er fields now blasted with the fires of war ; 
And angels view, with joy and wonder joined, 
The golden age returned to bless mankind !" 



21. NECESSITY OF A PtJRE NATIONAL MORALITY. Beecher 

The crisis has come. By the people of this generation, by 
ourselves, probably, the amazing question is to be decided, — 
whether the inheritance of our fathers shall be preserved or 
thrown away ; whether our Sabbaths shall be a delight or a 
loathing ; whether the taverns, on that holy day, shall be crowded 
with drunkards, or the sanctuary of God with humble wor- 
shippers ; whether riot and profaneness shall fill our streets, and 
poverty our dwellings, and convicts our gaols, and violence our 
land ; or whether industry, and temperance, and righteousness, 
shall be the stability of our times : whether mild laws shall 
receive the cheerful submission of freemen, or the iron rod of a 
tyrant compel the trembling homage of slaves. Be not deceived 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 33 

The rocks and hills of New-England will remain till the last 
conflagration. But let the Sabbath be profaned with impunity, 
the worship of God be abandoned, the government and religious 
instruction of children neglected, and the streams of intempe- 
rance be permitted to flow, and her glory will depart. The wall 
of fire will no longer surround her, and the munition of rocks will 
no longer be her defense. The hand that overturns our laws and 
temples is the hand of death unbarring the gate of Pandemonium, 
and letting loose upon our land the crimes and miseries of hell. 
If the Most High should stand aloof, and cast not a single in- 
gredient into our cup of trembling, it would seem to be full of 
superlative wo. But he will not stand aloof. As we shall have 
begun an open controversy with him, he will contend openly 
with us. And never, since the earth stood, has it been so fear- 
ful a thing for nations to fall into the hands of the living God. 
— The day of vengeance is at hand ; the day of judgment has 
come ; the great earthquake which sinks Babylon is shaking the 
nations, and the waves of the mighty commotion are dashing 
upon every shore. Is this, then, a time to remove the founda- 
tions, when the earth itself is shaken ? Is this a time to forfeit 
the protection of God, when the hearts of men are failing them 
for fear, and for looking after those things which are to come 
upon the earth ? Is this a time to run upon his neck and the 
thick bosses of his buckler, when the nations are drinking 
blood, and fainting, and passing away in his wrath ? Is this a 
time to throw away the shield of faith, when his arrows are 
drunk with the blood of the slain ? to cut from the anchor of 
hope, when the clouds are collecting, and the sea and the waves 
are roaring, and thunders are uttering their voices, and light- 
nings blazing in the heavens, and the great hail is falling from 
heaven upon men, and every mountain, sea, and island, is fleeing 
in dismay from the face of an incensed God 1 



22. NO EXCELLENCE WITHOUT LABOR. Wirt. 

The education, gentlemen, moral and intellectual, of every 
individual, must be, chiefly, his own work. Rely upon it, that 
the ancients were right — Quisque sua fortunce faber — both in 
morals and intellect, we give their final shape to our own char- 
acters, and thus become, emphatically, the architects of our 
own fortunes. How else could it happen, that young men, who 
have had precisely the same opportunities, should be continually 
presenting us with such different results, and rushing to such 



34 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Opposite destinies ? Difference of talent will not solve it, be- 
cause that difference is very often in favor of the disappointed 
candidate. You shall see issuing from the walls of the same 
college — nay, sometimes from the bosom of the same family-^- 
two young men, of whom the one shall be admitted to be a 
genius of high order, the other, scarcely above the point of 
mediocrity ; yet you shall see the genius sinking and perishing 
in poverty, obscurity and wretchedness : while on the other 
hand, you shall observe the mediocre plodding his slow but 
sure way up the hill of life, gaining steadfast footing at every 
step, and mounting, at length, to eminence and distinction, an 
ornament to his family, a blessing to his country. Now, whose 
work is this ? Manifestly their own. They are the architects 
of their respective fortunes. The best seminary of learning 
that can open its portals to you, can do no more than to afford 
you the opportunity of instruction : but it mast depend, at last, 
on yourselves, whether you will be instructed or not, or to what 
point you will push your instruction. And of this be assured — I 
speak, from observation, a certain truth : there is no excellence 
without great labor. It is the fiat of fate from which no power 
of genius can absolve you. Genius, unexerted, is like the poor 
moth that flutters around a candle till it scorches itself to death. 
If genius be desirable at all, it is only of that great and magnan- 
imous kind, which, like the condor of South America, pitches 
from the summit of Chimborazo, above the clouds, and sustains 
itself, at pleasuse, in that empyreal region, with an energy 
rather invigorated than weakened by the effort. It is this 
capacity for high and long-continued exertion — this vigorous 
power of profound and searching investigation — this careering 
and wide-spreading comprehension of mind — and those long 
reaches of thought, that 



-Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, 



Or dive into the bottom of the deep, 

Where fathom line could never touch the ground, 

And drag up drowned honor by the locks — " 

This is the prowess, and these the hardy achievements, which 
are to enrol your names among the great men of the earth. 



23". RELIEF OF THE SOLDIERS OF THE REVOLUTION. Sprague 

Sir, — The present provision for the soldiers of the revolu- 
tion is not sufficient. Even the act of 1818 was less compre 
hensive than it ought to have been. It should have embracer 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 35 

all, without any discrimination, except of services. But that 
aet, partly by subsequent laws, and partly by illiberal rules of 
construction, has been narrowed far within its original scope. 
I am constrained to say, that in the practical execution of these 
laws, the whole beneficent spirit of our institutions seems to 
have been reversed. Instead of presuming every man to be 
upright and true, until the contrary appears, every applicant 
seems to be pre-supposed to be false and perjured. Instead of 
bestowing these hard-earned rewards with alacrity, they appear 
to have been refused, or yielded with reluctance ; and to send 
away the way-worn veteran, bowed down with the infirmities 
of age, empty from your door, seems to have been deemed an 
act of merit. 

So rigid has been the construction and application of the 
existing law, that cases most strictly within its provisions, of 
meritorious service and abject poverty, have been excluded 
from its benefits. Yet gentlemen tell us, that this law, so ad- 
ministered, is too liberal ; that it goes too far, and they would 
repeal it. They would take back even the little which they 
have given ! And is this possible ? Look abroad upon this 
wide extended land, upon its wealth, its happiness, its hopes ; 
and then turn to the aged soldier, who gave you all, and see 
him descend in neglect and poverty to the tomb ? 

The time is short. A few years, and these remnants of a 
former age will no longer be seen. Then we shall indulge 
unavailing regrets for our present apathy: for, how can the 
ingenuous mind look upon the grave of an injured benefactor * 
How poignant the reflection, that the time for reparation and 
atonement has gone for ever ! In what bitterness of soul shall 
we look back upon the infatuation which shall have cast aside 
an opportunity, which never can return, to give peace to our 
consciences ! 

We shall then endeavor to stifle our convictions, by empty 
honors to their bones. We shall raise high the monument, and 
trumpet loud their deeds, but it will be all in vain. It cannot 
warm the hearts which shall have sunk cold and comfortless 
to the earth. This is no illusion. How often do we see, in 
our public gazettes, a pompous display of honors to the memory 
of some veteran patriot, who was suffered to linger out his latter 
days in unregarded penury ! 

" How proud we can press to the funeral array 
Of him whom we shunned in his sickness and sorrow $ 
And bailiffs may seize his last blanket to-day, 
Whose pall shall be borne up by heroes to-morrow." 



36 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



24. INFLUENCE OF NATIONAL GLORY Clay, 

We are asked, what have we gained by the war ? I have 
shown that we have lost nothing in rights, territory, or honor ; 
nothing for which we ought to have contended, according to the 
principles of the gentlemen on the other side, or according to 
our own. Have we gained nothing by the war ? Let any man 
look at the degraded condition of this country before the war, 
the scorn of the universe, the contempt of ourselves, and tell me 
if we have gained nothing by the war. What is our present 
situation ? Respectability and character abroad, security and 
confidence at home. If we have not obtained, in the opinion 
of some, the full measure of retribution, our character and 
constitution are placed on a solid basis, never to be shaken. 

The glory acquired by our gallant tars, by our Jacksons and 
our Browns on the land — is that nothing ? True, we had our 
vicissitudes : there were humiliating events which the patriot 
cannot review without deep regret — -but the great account, when 
it comes to be balanced, will be found vastly in our favor. Is 
there a man who would obliterate from the proud pages of our 
history the brilliant achievements of Jackson, Brown, and Scott, 
and the host of heroes on land and sea, whom I cannot enume- 
rate ? Is there a man who could not desire a participation in 
the national glory acquired by the war \ Yes, national glory, 
which, however the expression may be condemned by some, 
must be cherished by every genuine patriot. 

What do I mean by national glory ? Glory such as Hull, 
Jackson, and Perry have acquired. And are gentlemen insen- 
sible to their deeds — to the value of them in animating the 
country in the hour of peril hereafter ? Did the battle of Ther- 
mopylae preserve Greece but once 1 Whilst the Mississippi 
continues to bear the tributes of the Iron Mountains and the 
Alleghanies to her Delta and to the Gulf of Mexico, the 
eighth of January shall be remembered, and the glory of that 
day shall stimulate future patriots, and nerve the arms of un- 
oorn freemen in driving the presumptuous invader from our 
country's soil. 

Gentlemen may boast of their insensibility to feelings inspired 
Dy the contemplation of such events. But I would ask, does the 
recollection of Bunker's Hill, Saratoga, and Yorktown, afford 
them no pleasure ? Every act of noble sacrifice to the country, 
every instance of patriotic devotion to her cause, has its benefi- 
cial influence. A nation's character is the sum of its splendid 
deeds ; they constitute one commoi) patrimony, the nation's in- 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 37 

heritance. They awe foreign powers — they arouse and animate 
our own people. I love true glory. It is this sentiment which 
ought to be cherished ; and, in spite of cavils, and sneers, and 
attempts to put it down, it will finally conduct this nation to thai 
height to which God and nature have destined it 



25. frauds upon the revenue. — Hayne. 

Mr. President, — The gentleman complains of frauds upon 
the revenue — and fraudulent invoices and smuggling — but it is 
his system which has produced these evils. Smuggling, from 
the very nature of things, must exist, when the duties exceed 
the risk and expense of the illicit intercourse. For a season, 
sir, the high moral sense of a young and uncorrupted people, 
may oppose some obstacle to these practices. No government 
on earth can prevent them. Napoleon, in the plenitude of his 
power, was unable to maintain his continental system. His 
prohibitions and restrictions were constantly violated with impu- 
nity. Yes sir, he who sported with kingdoms, who constructed 
thrones upon the ruins of empires, and appointed the officers 
of his household to fill them ; whose armies were his custom- 
house officers, who drew his cordons around the nations which 
he conquered, was utterly unable to put down the great princi- 
ples of free trade. It has been well said, sir, "that when all 
Europe was obedient to his nod — the smuggler disputed his 
commands, set at naught his edicts, laughed to scorn his power, 
and overthrew his policy." How is it with England, that sea- 
girt isle, surrounded with a thousand ships, and thirty thousand 
guardians of her revenue ? Sir, do we not all know that smug- 
gling is there a profitable trade, and that the revenue laws of 
England are constantly violated with impunity 1 And how is if 
in Spain ? A modern traveler asserts that there are a hundred 
thousand persons in that unhappy country who live by smug- 
gling, and that there are thirty thousand others, paid by tho 
government, to detect their practice, but who are in a league 
with the offenders ; and as to the condition of things in our own 
country, the gentleman has told us a tale this day, which, if he 
be not himself deceived, shows what fearful progress these 
practices have already made. The time was when smuggling 
was absolutely unknown any where in this country, as it still 
is in the southern states. It is your protecting system which 
has introduced it. It is the natural consequence of high duties 
—the evil was foretold, and, as we predicted, it has come upon 

4 



38 UNITED dTATES SPEAKER. 

us. The protecting system has already, in the minds of many, 
removed the odium which formerly rested on this practice. It 
was but the last year that a distinguished senator rose up in his 
place here and held this language : " Your tariff policy compels 
respectable men to violate your law ; you force them to disre- 
gard its injunctions, in order to elude its oppressions. It was 
his perfect conviction, that there was not a virtuous man through- 
out the union, who would now think it criminal to smuggle into 
the country every article consumed in it — and why ? Because 
you force them to it in self-defense." — Sir, when these senti- 
ments shall become prevalent, what think you will become of 
that system 1 How long will it last after the payment of duties 
shall come to be considered as a badge of servitude 1 



26 INFLUENCE OF GREAT ACTIONS DEPENDENT ON THEIB 

results, — Webster. 

Great actions and striking occurrences, having excited a tem- 
porary admiration, often pass away and are forgotten, because 
they leave no lasting results, affecting the prosperity of com- 
munities. Such is frequently the fortune of the most brilliant 
military achievements. Of the ten thousand battles which have 
been fought ; of all the fields fertilized with carnage ; of the ban- 
ners which have been bathed in blood ; of the warriors who have 
hoped that they had risen from the field of conquest to a glory 
as bright and as durable as the stars, how few that continue 
long to interest mankind ! The victory of yesterday is reversed 
by the defeat of to-day ; the star of military glory, rising like a 
meteor, like a meteor has fallen ; disgrace and disaster hang on 
the heels of conquest and renown ; victor and vanquished pres- 
ently pass away to oblivion, and the world holds on its course, 
with the loss, only, of so many lives, and so much treasure. 

But if this is frequently, or generally, the fortune of military 
achievements, it is not always so. There are enterprises, mili- 
tary as well as civil, that sometimes check the current of events 
give a new turn to human affairs, and transmit their consequences 
through ages. We see their importance in their results, and 
call them great, because great things follow. There have been 
battles which have fixed the fate of nations. These come down 
to us in history with a solid and permanent influence, not created 
by a display of glittering armor, the rush of adverse battalions, 
the sinking'and rising of pennons, the flight, the pursuit, and the 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 39 

victory ; but by their effect in advancing or retarding human 
knowledge, in overthrowing or establishing despotism, in extend- 
ing or destroying human happiness. When tbe traveler pauses 
on the plains of Marathon, what are the emotions which strongly 
agitate his breast ; what is that glorious recollection that thrills 
through his frame, and suffuses his eyes 1 Not, I imagine, that 
Grecian skill and Grecian valor were here most signally dis- 
played ; but that Greece herself was saved. It is because to 
this spot, and to the event which has rendered it immortal, he 
refers all the succeeding glories of the republic. It is because, 
if that day had gone otherwise, Greece had perished. It is be- 
cause he perceives that her philosophers and orators, her poets 
and painters, her sculptors and architects, her government and 
free institutions, point backward to Marathon, and that their fu- 
ture existence seems to have been suspended on the contingency, 
whether the Persian or Grecian banner should wave victo- 
rious in the beams of that day's setting sun. And as his ima- 
gination kindles at the retrospect, he is transported back to the 
interesting moment : he counts the fearful odds of the contending 
hosts ; his interest for the result overwhelms him ; he trembles 
as if it was still uncertain, and seems to doubt whether he 
may consider Socrates and Plato, Demosthenes, Sophocles, 
and Phidias, as secure, yet, to himself and to the world. 



27. prevalence of war. — Grimke. 

War is the law of violence. Peace the law of love. That 
law of violence prevailed without mitigation from the murder 
of Abel to the advent of the Prince of Peace. 

We might have imagined, if history had not attested the re- 
verse, that an experiment of four thousand years would have 
sufficed to prove, that the rational and valuable ends of society 
can never be attained, by constructing its institutions in con- 
formity with the standard of war. But the sword and the torch 
had been eloquent in vain. A thousand battle-fields, white with 
the bones of brothers, were counted as idle advocates in the 
cause of justice and humanity. Ten thousand cities, aban- 
doned to the cruelty and licentiousness of the soldiery : and 
burnt, or dismantled, or razed to the ground, pleaded in vain 
against the law of violence. The river, the lake, the sea, 
crimsoned with the blood of fellow-citizens, and neighbors, and 
strangers, had lifted up their voices in vain to denounce the 



40 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

folly and wickedness of war. The shrieks and agonies, the 
rage and hatred, the wounds and curses of the battle-field, and 
the storm and the sack, had scattered in vain their terrible 
warnings throughout all lands. In vain had the insolent Ly- 
sander destroyed the walls and burnt the fleets of Athens, to 
the music of her own female flute-players. In vain had Scipio, 
amid the ruins of Carthage, in the spirit of a gloomy seer, ap 
plied to Rome herself the prophecy of Agamemnon, 

* The day shall come, the great avenging day, 
Which Troy's proud glories in the dust shall lay : 
When Priam's power, and Priam's self shall fall, 
And one prodigious ruin swallow all.'* 

In vain had Pyrrhus exclaimed, as for all the warrior gamblers 
of antiquity, " One such victory more and I am undone." In 
vain had the disgrace and the sufferings of Miltiades and Nicias, 
of Themistocles, Pausanias, and Alcibiades ; of Marius and 
Sylla, of Hannibal, Pompey, and Cesar, filled the nations with 
pity and dismay. The lamentations of the widow and the tears 
of the orphan, the broken hearts of age and the blasted hopes of 
youth, and beauty, and love, had pleaded in vain against the law 
of violence. The earth had drunk in the life-blood of the slain, 
and hidden their mangled bodies in her bosom : and there the 
garden, the orchard, and the harvest, flourished once more beau- 
tiful in the tints of nature, and rich in the melody of fount, and 
leaf, and breeze. The waters have swallowed into their depths 
the dying and the dead, and the ruined fleets both of victor 
and vanquished ; and again the waves danced in their sportive- 
ness, or rushed in their fury, over the battle-plain of hostile 
navies. The innocence of childhood had forgotten the parent's 
violent death, the widow had recovered the lost smile of former 
years, the miserable old man had been gathered to his fathers, 
and affection had found new objects for its attachments. 



28. MILITARY INSUBORDINATION. Clay. 

Mr. Chairman^ — I trust that I shall be indulged with some 
few reflections upon the danger of permitting the conduct on 
which it has been my painful duty to animadvert, to pass with- 
out a solemn expression of the disapprobation of this house. 
Recall to your recollection, sir, the free nations which have 
gone before us. Where a*« they now ? 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 41 

* Gone glimmering through the dream of things that were, 
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour." 

And how have they lost their liberties ? If we could transport 
ourselves back, sir, to the ages when Greece and Rome flour- 
ished in their greatest prosperity, and, mingling in the throng, 
should ask a Grecian if he did not fear that some daring military 
chieftain, covered with glory, some Philip, or Alexander, would 
one day overthrow the liberties of his country, — the confident 
and indignant Grecian would exclaim, No! no! we have nothing 
to fear from our heroes ; our liberties will be eternal. If a 
Roman citizen had been asked, if he did not fear that the con- 
queror of Gaul might establish a throne upon the ruins of public 
liberty, he would have instantly repelled the unjust insinuation. 
Yet Greece has fallen ; Cesar has passed the rubicon ; and 
the patriotic arm even of Brutus could not preserve the liberties 
of his devoted country. 

Sir, we are fighting a great moral battle for the benefit, not 
only of our country, but of all mankind. The eyes of the whole 
world are in fixed attention upon us. One, and the largest 
portion of it, is gazing with jealousy and with envy ; the other 
portion with hope, with confidence, and with affection. Every 
where the black cloud of legitimacy is suspended over the 
world, save only one bright spot, which breaks out from the 
political hemisphere of the west, to enlighten, and animate, 
and gladden the human heart. Obscure that, by the downfall 
of liberty here, and all mankind are enshrouded in a pall of 
universal darkness. Beware, then, sir, how you give a fatal 
sanction, in this infant period of our republic, to military insub- 
ordination. Remember that Greece had her Alexander, Rome 
her Cesar, England her Cromwell, France her Bonaparte, and, 
that if we would escape the rock on which they split, we must 
avoid their errors. 

I hope, sir, that gentlemen will deliberately survey the awful 
isthmus on which we stand. They may bear down all oppo- 
sition. They may even vote the general* the public thanks. 
They may carry him triumphantly through this house. But if 
they do, sir, in my humble judgment, it will be a triumph of the 
principle of insubordination — a triumph of the military over the 
civil authority — a triumph over the powers of this house — a 
triumph over the constitution of the land — and 1 pray, sir, mos* 
devoutly, that it may not prove, in its ultimate effects and cod* 
frequences, a triumph over the liberties of the people. 

♦ General Jackson. 
4 # 



43 UNITED STATES SPEASER. 



29. EVILS OF DISMEMBERMENT. Web$Ur. 

Gentlemen* the political prosperity which this country has 
attained, and which it now enjoys* it has acquired mainly 
through the instrumentality of the present government. While 
this agent continues, the capacity of attaining to still higher 
degrees of prosperity exists also. We have* while this lasts* 
a political life, capable of beneficial exertion, with power to 
resist or overcome misfortunes, to sustain us against the ordi- 
nary accidents of human affairs, and to promote, by active efforts, 
every public interest. But dismemberment strikes at the very 
being which preserves these faculties. It would lay its rude 
and ruthless hand on this great agent itself. It would sweep 
away, not only what we possess, but all power of regaining 
lost, or acquiring new, possessions. It would leave the country, 
not only bereft of its prosperity and happiness, but without 
limbs, or organs, or faculties, by which to exert itself, here- 
after, in the pursuit of that prosperity and happiness. 

Other misfortunes may be borne, or their effects overcome 
If disastrous war should sweep our commerce from the ocean, 
another generation may renew it ; if it exhaust our treasury, 
future industry may replenish It ; if it desolate and lay waste 
our fields, still, under a new cultivation, they will grow green 
again, and ripen to future harvests. It were but a trifle, even 
if the walls of yonder capitol were to crumble, if its lofty pillars 
should fall, and its gorgeous decorations be all covered by the 
dust of the valley. All these might be rebuilt. But who shall 
re-construct the fabric of demolished government ? Who shall 
rear again the well-proportioned columns of constitutional lib- 
erty 1 Who shall frame together the skilful architecture which 
unites national sovereignty with state-rights, individual secu- 
rity, and public prosperity 1 No, gentlemen, if these columns 
fall, they will be raised not again. Like the Coliseum and the 
Parthenon, they will be destined to a mournful, a melancholy 
immortality. Bitterer tears, however, will flow over them, than 
were ever shed over the monuments of Roman or Grecian art ; 
for they will be the remnants of a more glorious edifice than 
Greece or Rome ever saw — the edifice of constitutional Amer- 
ican liberty. 

But, gentlemen, let us hope for better things. Let us trust 
in that gracious Being who has hitherto held our country as in 
the hollow of his hand. Let us trust to the virtue and the in- 
telligence of the people, and to the efficacy of religious obliga- 
tion. Let us trust to the influence of Washington's example 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 43 

Let us hope that that fear of heaven, which expels all other 
fear, and that regard to duty, which transcends all other regard, 
may influence public men and private citizens, and lead our 
country still onward in her happy career. Full of these gratify- 
ing anticipations and hopes, let us look forward to the end of 
that century which is now commenced. And may the disciples 
of Washington then see, as we now see, the flag of the Union 
floating on the top of the capitol ; and then, as now, may the 
sun in his course visit no land more free, more happy, more 
lovely, than this our own country ! 



JO. IMPRESSIONS DERIVED FROM THE STUDY OF HISTORY. 

Verplanck. 

The study of the history of most other nations, fills the mind 
with sentiments not unlike those which the American traveler 
feels on entering the venerable and lofty cathedral of some 
proud old city of Europe. Its solemn grandeur, its vastness, 
its obscurity, strike awe to the heart. From the richly-painted 
windows, filled with sacred emblems and strange antique forms, 
a dim religious light falls around. A thousand recollections of 
romance, and poetry, and legendary story, come crowding in 
upon him. He is surrounded by the tombs of the mighty dead, 
rich with the labors of ancient art, and emblazoned with the 
pomp of heraldry. 

What names does he read upon them 1 Those of princes 
and nobles who are now remembered only for their vices, and 
of sovereigns, at whose death no tears were shed, and whose 
memories lived not an hour in the affections of their people. — » 
There, too, he sees other names, long familiar to him for their 
guilty or ambiguous fame. There rest, the blood-stained sol- 
dier of fortune — the orator, who was ever the ready apologist 
of tyranny — great scholars, who were the pensioned flatterers 
of power — and poets, who profaned their heaven-gifted talent 
to pamper the vices of a corrupted court. 

Our own history, on the contrary, like that poetical temple 
of fame, which was reared by the imagination of Chaucer, and 
decorated by the taste of Pope, is almost exclusively dedicated 
to the memory of the truly great. Or rather, like the Pantheon 
of Rome, it stands in calm and severe beauty amid the ruins of 
ancient magnificence anil " the toys of modern state." Within, 
no idle ornament encumbers its bold simplicity. The pure 
light of heaven enters from above and sheds an equal and 



44 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

serene radiance around. As the eye wanders about its extent 
it beholds the unadorned monuments of brave and good men 
who have greatly bled or toiled for their country, or it rests on 
rotive tablets inscribed with the names of the best benefactors 
of mankind. 

Yes — land of liberty ! thy children have no cause to blush 
for thee. What though the arts have reared no monuments 
among us, and scarce a trace of the muse's footstep is found in 
the paths of our forest, or along the banks of our rivers ; yet 
our soil has been consecrated by the blood of heroes, and by 
great and holy deeds of peace. Its wide extent has become 
one vast temple and hallowed asylum, sanctified by the prayers 
and blessings of the persecuted of every sect, and the wretched 
of all nations. 

Land of refuge — land of benedictions 1 Those prayers still 
arise, and they still are heard. " May peace be within thy 
walls and plenteousness within thy palaces ;" " May there be 
no decay, no leading into captivity, and no complaining in thy 
streets ;" " May truth flourish out of the earth, and righteous- 
ness look down from heaven." 



31. IMPORTANCE OF PRESERVING THE UNION. Webster. 

I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in 
view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the 
preservation of our federal union. It is to that union we owe 
our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. 
It is to that union that we are chiefly indebted for whatevei 
makes us most proud of our country. That union we reached, 
only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of 
adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered 
fviance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign 
influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the 
dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its 
duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its bless- 
ings ; and although our territory has stretched out, wider and 
wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have 
not outrun its protection, or its benefits. It has been to us all 
a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. 

I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the union, to 
see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have 
not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the 
tonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 45 

not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, 
to see whether, with my short sight, 1 can fathom the depth of 
the abyss below ; nor could I regard him as a safe counselor in 
the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly 
bent on considering, not how the union should be best preserved, 
but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it 
shall be broken up and destroyed. 

While the union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying 
prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Be- 
yond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that, in 
my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant, that 
on my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When 
my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in 
heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored 
fragments of a once glorious union ; on states dissevered, dis- 
cordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, 
it may be, in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and linger- 
ing glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, 
now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high ad- 
vanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, 
not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured — bear- 
ing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as — What is 
all this worth ? Nor those other words of delusion and folly — 
liberty first, and union afterwards— but every where, spread all 
over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds 
as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind 
under the whole heavens, that other sentiment dear to every 
true American heart — liberty and union, now and for ever, one 
and inseparable ! 



32. political corruption. — McDuffie. 

Sir, — We are apt to treat the idea of our own corruptibility, 
as utterly visionary, and to ask, with a grave affectation of 
dignity — what ! do you think a member of congress can be 
corrupted ? Sir, I speak what I have long and deliberately 
considered, when I say, that since man was created, there 
never has been a political body on the face of the earth, that 
would not be corrupted under the same circumstances. Cor- 
ruption steals upon us in a thousand insidious forms, when we 
are least aware of its approaches. Of all the forms in which 
it can present itself, the bribery of office is the most dangerous, 
because it assumes the guise of patriotism to accomplish its 



46 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

fatal sorcery. We are often asked, where is the evidence of 
corruption ? Have you seen it ? Sir, do you expect to see it ? 
You might as well expect to see the embodied forms of pesti- 
lence and famine stalking before you, as to see the latent opera- 
tions of this insidious power. We may walk amidst k and 
breathe its contagion, without being conscious of its presence. 
All experience teaches us the irresistible power of temptation, 
when vice assumes the form of virtue, The great enemy of 
mankind could not have consummated his infernal scheme for 
the seduction of our first parents, but for the disguise in which 
he presented himself. Had he appeared as the devil, in his 
proper form ; had the spear of Ithuriel disclosed the naked de- 
formity of the fiend of hell, the inhabitants of paradise would 
have shrunk with horror from his presence. But he came as 
the insinuating serpent, and presented a beautiful apple, the 
most delicious fruit in all the garden. He told his glowing 
story to the unsuspecting victim of his guile. " It can be no 
crime to taste of this delightful fruit. It will disclose to you 
the knowledge of good and evil. It will raise you to an equality 
drith the angels." Such, sir, was the process ; and in this 
simple but impressive narrative, we have the most beautiful and 
philosophical illustration of the frailty of man, and the power 
T)f temptation, that could possibly be exhibited. Mr. Chairman, 
I have been forcibly struck with the similarity between our 
present situation and that of Eve, after it was announced that 
Satan was on the borders of paradise. We, too, have been 
warned that the enemy is on our borders. But God forbid that 
the similitude should be carried any farther. Eve, conscious 
of her innocence, sought temptation and defied it. The catas- 
trophe is too fatally known to us all. She went, " with the 
blessings of heaven on her head, and its purity in her heart," 
guarded by the ministry of angels — she returned, covered with 
shame, under the heavy denunciation of heaven's everlasting 
curse. 

Sir, it is innocence that temptation conquers. If our first 
parent, pure as she came from the hand of God, was overcome 
by the seductive power, 'let us not imitate her fatal rashness, 
seeking temptation, when it is in our power to avoid it. Let 
us not vainly confide in our own infallibility. We are liable 
to be corrupted. To an ambitious man, an honorable office will 
appear as beautiful and fascinating as the apple of paradise. 

I admit, sir, that ambition is a passion, at once the most 
powerful and the most useful. Without it, human affairs would 
lecome a mere stagnant pool. By means of his patronage, the 
president addresses himself in the most irresistible manner* to 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 47 

this, the noblest and strongest of our passions. All that the 
imagination can desire — honor, power, wealth, ease, are held 
out as the temptation. Man was not made to resist such tempta- 
tions. It is impossible to conceive, Satan himself could not 
devise, a system which would more infallibly introduce corrup- 
tion and death into our political Eden. Sir, the angels feU 
from heaven with less temptation. 



33 NATIONAL RECOLLECTIONS THE FOUNDATION OF NATIONAL 

character. — Everett. 

How is the spirit of a free people to be formed, and ani- 
mated, and cheered, but out of the store-house of its historic 
recollections ! Are we to be eternally ringing the changes 
upon Marathon and Thermopylae ; and going back to read in 
obscure texts of Greek and Latin, of the exemplars of patriotic 
virtue ? I thank God that we can find them nearer home, in 
our own country, on our own soil ; — that strains of the noblest 
sentiment that ever swelled in the breast of man, are breathing 
to us out of every page of our country's history, in the native 
eloquence of our mother tongue ;— that the colonial and provin- 
cial councils of America exhibit to us models of the spirits 
and character which gave Greece and Rome their name and 
their praise among nations. Here we ought to go for our 
instruction ; — the lesson is plain, it is clear, it is applicable. 
When we go to ancient history, we are bewildered with the 
difference of manners and institutions. We are willing to pay 
our tribute of applause to the memory of Leonidas, who fell 
nobly for his country in the face of his foe. But when we 
trace him to his home, we^ are confounded at the reflection, that 
the same Spartan heroism, to which he sacrificed himself at 
Thermopylae, would have led him to tear his own child, if it 
had happened to be a sickly babe, — the very object for which 
all that is kind and good in man rises up to plead, — from the 
bosom of its mother, and carry it out to be eaten by the wolves 
of Taygetus. We feel a glow of admiration at the heroism 
displayed at Marathon, by the ten thousand champions of in- 
vaded Greece ; but we cannot forget that the tenth part of the 
numo^r were slaves, unchained from the work-shops and door- 
posts of their masters, to go and fight the battles of freedom. I 
do not mean that these examples are to destroy the interest with 
which we read the history of ancient times ; they possibly in 
crease that interest by the very contrast they exhibit. But 



48 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

they do warn us, if we need the warning, to seek oar great 
practical lessons of patriotism at home ; out of the exploits 
and sacrifices of which our own country is the theatre ; out of 
the characters of our own fathers. Them we know, — the 
high-souled, natural, unaffected, the citizen heroes. We know 
what happy firesides they left for the cheerless camp. We 
know with what pacific habits they dared the perils of the field 
There is no mystery, no romance, no madness, under the name 
of chivalry about them. It is all resolute, manly resistance 
for conscience and liberty's sake, not merely of an overwhelm- 
ing power, but of all the force of long-rooted habits and native 
love of order and peace. 

Above all, their blood calls to us from the soil which we 
tread ; it beats in our veins ; it cries to us not merely in the 
thrilling words of one of the first victims in this cause, — " My 
sons, scorn to be slaves !" — but it cries with a still more moving 
eloquence — " My sons, forget not your fathers !" 



34. HAPPY CONSEQUENCES OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. — 

Maxcy. 

In a full persuasion of the excellency of our government, let 
is shun those vices which tend to its subversion, and cultivate 
those virtues which will render it permanent, and transmit it in 
full vigor to all succeeding ages. Let not the haggard forms 
of intemperance and luxury ever lift up their destroying visages 
in this happy country. Let economy, frugality, moderation, 
and justice at home and abroad, mark the conduct of all our 
citizens. Let it be our constant care to diffuse knowledge and 
goodness through all ranks of society. The people of this 
country will never be uneasy under its present form of govern- 
ment, provided they have sufficient information to judge of its 
excellency. No nation under heaven enjoys so much happi- 
ness as the Americans. Convince them of this, and will they 
not shudder at the thought of subverting their political consti- 
tution, of suffering it to degenerate into aristocracy or mon- 
archy ? Let a sense of our happy situation awaken in us the 
warmest sensations of gratitude to the Supreme Being. Let 
us consider him as the author of all our blessings, acknowledg- 
ing him as our beneficent parent, protector, and friend. The 
predominant tendency of his providences towards us as a nation, 
evinces his benevolent designs. Every part of his conduct 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE 49 

speaks in a language plain and intelligible. Let us open our 
ears, let us attend, let us be wise. 

While we celebrate the anniversary of our independence, 
let us not pass over in silence the defenders of our country. 
Where are those brave Americans whose lives were cloven 
down in the tempest of battle 1 Are they not bending from the 
bright abodes ? A voice from the altar cries, " these are they 
who loved their country, these are they who died for liberty ." 
We now reap the fruit of their agony and toil. Let their mem- 
ories be eternally embalmed in our bosoms. Let the infants 
of all posterity prattle their fame, and drop tears of courage for 
their fate. 

The consequences of American independence will soon 
reach to the extremities of the world. The shining car of 
freedom will soon roll over the necks of kings, and bear off the 
oppressed to scenes of liberty and peace. The clamors of war 
will cease under the whole heaven. The tree of liberty will 
shoot its top up to the sun. Its boughs will hang over the 
ends of the whole world, and wearied nations will lie down 
and rest under its shade. 

Here in America stands the asylum for the distressed and 
persecuted of all nations. The vast temple of freedom rises 
majestically fair. Founded on a rock, it will remain unshaken 
by the force of tyrants, undiminished by the flight of time. Long 
streams of light emanate through its portals, and chase the 
darkness from distant nations. Its turrets will swell into the 
heavens, rising above every tempest : and the pillar of divine 
glory, descending from God, will rest for ever on its summit. 



35. OBLIGATIONS OF MASSACHUSETTS TO STAND BY THE 

union. — Webster. 

Mr. President, — The people of the United States, by a vas\ 
and countless majority, are attached to the constitution. If 
they shall be convinced that it is in danger, they will come to 
its rescue and save it. It cannot be destroyed, even now, if 
they will undertake its guardianship and protection. 

But suppose, sir, there was less hope than there is, would 
that consideration weaken the force of our obligations ? Are 
we at a post which we are at liberty to abandon, when it be- 
comes difficult to hold it ? May we fly at the approach of dan* 
ger ? Does our fidelity to the constitution require no more of 
us than to enjoy its blessings, to bask in the prosperity which 

5 



00 tTNITED &TATES SPEAKER. 

it has shed around us and our fathers ; and are we at liberty to 
abandon it, in the hour of its peril, or to make for it but a faint 
and heartless struggle, for the want of encouragement, and the 
want of hope 1 Sir, if no state comes to our succor, if else- 
where the contest should be given up, here let it be protracted 
to the last moment. Here, where the first blood of the revolu- 
tion was shed, let the last effort, for that which is the greatest 
blessing obtained by it, a free and united government, be made. 
Sir, in our endeavors to maintain our existing forms of govern- 
ment, we are acting not for ourselves alone, but for the great 
cause of constitutional liberty all over the globe. We are trus- 
tees, holding a sacred treasure, in which all the lovers of free- 
dom have a stake. Not only in revolutionized France, where 
there are no longer subjects, where the monarch can no longer 
say, he is the state ; not only in reformed England, where our 
principles, our institutions, our practice of free government are 
now daily quoted and commended ; but in the depths of Ger- 
many, and among the desolate fields, and the still smoking 
ashes of Poland, prayers are uttered for the preservation of our 
union and happiness. We are surrounded, sir, by a cloud of 
witnesses. The gaze of the sons of liberty, every where, is 
upon us, anxiously, intently, upon us. It may see us fall in 
the struggle for our constitution and government, but heaven 
forbid that it should see us recreant. 

At least, sir, let the star of Massachusetts be the last which 
shall be seen to fall from heaven, and to plunge into the utter 
darkness of disunion. Let her shrink back, let her hold others 
back, if she can ; at any rate let her keep herself back, from 
this gulf, full, at once, of fire and of blackness ; yes, sir, as far 
as human foresight can scan, or human imagination fathom, full 
of the fire, and the blood of civil war, and of the thick darkness 
of general political disgrace, ignominy, and ruin. Though the 
worst happen that can happen, and though we be not able to 
prevent the catastrophe, yet, let her maintain her own integrity, 
her own high honor, hex own unwavering fidelity, so that with 
respect and decency, though with a broken and a bleeding heart, 
she may pay the last tribute to a glorious, departed, free con- 
stitution. 



36. THE OBLIGATIONS ©F AMERICA TO LA FAYETTE. Haj/Tie 

I had hoped, Mr. President, that this bill would have met 
with no opposition. I had hoped that the world would see, that 
against a proposition for showing our gratkude, as a nation, in 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 51 

something more than mere words to general La Fayette, not a 
voice would be raised. But, sir, I am disappointed ; and it is 
therefore the irksome task of this committee to go into detail, 
and to show how much we are absolutely indebted to this 
great man. 

It appears from some documents, sir, in possession of the 
committee, that the general, during six years of our revolution 
ary war, sacrificed one hundred and forty thousand dollars oi 
his private fortune, in the service of this country. And run\ 
sir, was this sacrifice made ? Under what circumstances 1 
Was he one of our own citizens — one of those whose lives and 
fortunes were necessarily exposed during the vicissitudes of a 
contest for the right of self-government 1 No, sir, no such thing. 
He tore himself away from his country and his home, to fight 
the battles of freedom in a foreign land, and to make common 
cause with a people to whom he owed no duty. Nor was he 
satisfied with the devotion of his personal services. It is a 
matter of record on the pages of your history, that he armed a 
regiment for you : that he sent a vessel laden with arms and 
munitions of war for you : that he put shoes on the feet of your 
barefoot and suffering soldiers. For all these services he 
asked no recompense — he received none. He spent his for- 
tune for you ; he shed his blood for you ; and without acquiring 
any thing but a claim upon your gratitude, he impoverished 
himself. 

And now, sir, what would be thought of us in Europe, if, after 
all that has passed, we should fail to make a generous and 
liberal provision for our venerable guest? We have, under 
circumstances calculated to give to the event great celebrity, 
invited him to our shores. We have received him with the 
utmost enthusiasm. The people have every where greeted 
him in the warmest terms of gratitude and affection. Now 
whaf will be thought of us in Europe, and, what is much more 
important, how shall we deserve to be thought of, if we send 
back our venerable guest without any more substantial proof 
of our gratitude, than vague expressions of regard ? You have 
made him a spectacle for the world to gaze on. He cannot go 
back to France and become the private citizen he was when he 
left it. You have, by the universal homage of your hearts and 
tongues, made his house a shrine, to which every pilgrim of 
Jibtrty, from every quarter of the world, will repair. At least, 
let him not, after this, want the means of giving welcome to the 
Americans., who, whenever they visit the shores of France, will 
repair in crowds to his hospitable mansion, to testify their ven* 
eratior. to the illustrious compatriot of their fathers. I regret 



32 UNITED STATES ©PEAKER. 

sir, that I have been compelled to say thus much upon the sub- 
ject. But, sir, I have full confidence that there cannot in this 
house, there cannot in this nation, be but one universal feeling 
of gratitude and affection for La Fayette. 



37. BATTLE THE ONLY ALTERNATIVE. Henry. 

Mr. President, — I have but one lamp by which my feet are 
guided ; and that is the lamp of experience. I have no way of 
judging the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I 
wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British 
ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which 
gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the 
house ? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has 
been lately received ? Trust it not, sir ; it will prove a snare 
to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. 
Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition com- 
ports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters 
and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a 
work of love and reconciliation ? Have we shown ourselves so 
unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win 
back our love 1 Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are 
the implements of war and subjugation — the last arguments to 
which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this 
martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission ? 
Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it ? Has 
Great Britain an enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for 
all this accumulation of navies and armies 1 No, sir, she has 
none. They are meant for us : they can be meant for no other. 
They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains, 
which the British ministry have been so long forging. And 
what have we to oppose to them ? Shall we try argument \ 
Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we 
any thing new to offer upon the subject 1 Nothing. We have 
held the subject up in every light of which it is capable ; but it 
has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble 
supplication 1 What terms shall we find which have not been 
already exhausted 1 Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive 
ourselves longer. Sir, we have done every thing that could be 
done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have 
petitioned — we have remonstrated — we have supplicated — we 
have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored 
its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 53 

and parliament. Our petitions have been slighted ; our remon- 
strances have produced additional violence and insult ; our sup- 
plications have been disregarded ; and we have been spurned, 
with contempt, from the foot of the throne. 

In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of 

Eeace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for 
ope. If we wish to be free — if we wish to preserve inviolate 
those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long 
contending — if we mean not basely to abandon the noble strug- 
gle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have 
pledged ourselves never to abandon, until the glorious object of 
our contest shall be obtained — we must fight ! — I repeat it, sir, 
we must fight ! ! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts, is 
all that is left us. 



38. THE INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GOVERNMENTS. RlttledgC. 

Sir, — The gentleman from Virginia has repeated the obser- 
vation of his colleague, that the people are capable of taking 
care of their own rights, and do not want a corps of judges to 
protect them. Sir, human nature is the same every where ; and 
man is precisely the same sort of being in the new world that 
he is in the old. The citizens of other republics were as wise 
and valiant, and far more powerful than we are. The gentle- 
man knows full well, that wherever the Roman standard was 
unfurled, its motto, " Senatus Populusque Romani" proclaimed 
to a conquered world, that they were governed by the senate 
and the people of Rome. But now, sir, the Roman lazaroni, 
who, crouching at the gate of his prince's palace, begs the offals 
of his kitchen, would never know that his ancestors had been 
free, — nor that the people had counted for any thing in Rome, 
or that Rome ever had her senate, did he not read of them on 
the broken friezes and broken columns of the ruined temples 
whose fragments now lie scattered over the Roman forum. Sir 
the mournful histories of the republics of Rome and Greece, 
are not the only beacons which warn us of the dangers of in- 
stability and innovation. All Europe was once free. But where 
now is the diet of Sweden ? Where are the states of Holland 
and Portugal, and the republics of Switzerland and Italy ? The 
people of those countries were once free and happy, but theii 
governments, for the want of some protecting check, some in- 
herent principle to defend themselves, have all been subverted ; 
they have all traveled the same road ; it is as plain as a turn- 

5* 



54 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

pike : it is pointed out by the ruins of other republics. Every 
where the same causes have produced the same effects. The 
honorable gentleman says, he does not want to seek examples 
across the Atlantic. Sir, is this wise — are we to shut our 
eyes to the light of history, and turn away from the voice of 
experience ? Sir, the untutored Indian marks on his tomahawk 
great events as they pass, and augurs what will happen from 
knowing what has happened ; and shall we travel on withou* 
noticing the finger-boards erected by historians for our security! 
The gentleman censures our having noticed France, and read 
a passage from a speech of the illustrious Washington, where 
he called the French a great and wise people. What has been 
the fate of this gallant people 1 Where is their constitution ? 
We have seen La Fayette in the Champ de Mars, at the head 
of fifty thousand warriors, who, with one hand grasping their 
swords, and the other laid on the altar, swore, in the presence 
of Almighty God, they never would desert their constitution* 
Through all the departments of France, similar pledges were 
given. Frenchmen received their constitution as the follower^ 
of Mahomet did the alcoran, and thought it came to them front 
heaven. They swore on their standards and their sabres, neve/r 
to abandon it. But, sir, this constitution has vanished ; their 
swords, which were to have formed a rampart around it, are 
now worn by the consular janizaries, and the republican stand* 
ards are among the trophies which decorate the vaulted roc 
of the consul's palace. 



39. EXTENT OF COUNTRY NOT DANGEROUS TO THE UNION. 

— Madison. 

I submit to you, my fellow-citizens, these considerations, in 
full confidence that the good sense which has so often marked 
your decisions, will allow them their due weight and effect ; 
and that you will never suffer difficulties, however formidable 
in appearance, or however fashionable the error on which they 
may be founded, to drive you into the gloomy and perilous 
scenes into which the advocates for disunion would conduct 
you. Hearken not to the unnatural voice which tells you that 
the people of America, knit together as they are by so many 
cords of affection, can no longer live together as members of 
the same family ; can no longer continue the mutual guardians 
of their mutual happiness ; can no longer be fellow-citizens of 
one great, respectable, and flourishing empire. Hearken not 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 63 

to the voice, which petulantly tells you, that the form of gov- 
ernment recommended for your adoption, is a novelty in the 
political world ; that it never yet has had a place in the theories 
of the wildest projectors ; that it rashly attempts what it is im- 
possible to accomplish. No, my countrymen ; shut your ears 
against this unhallowed language. Shut your hearts against 
the poison which it conveys : the kindred blood which flows in 
the veins of American citizens, the mingled blood which they 
have shed in defense of their sacred rights, consecrate their 
union, and excite horror at the idea of their becoming aliens, 
rivals, enemies. And if novelties are to be shunned, believe 
me, the most alarming of all novelties, the most wild of all 
projects, the most rash of all attempts, is that of rending us in 
pieces, in order to preserve our liberties and promote our hap- 
piness. But why is the experiment of an extended republic to 
be rejected, merely because it may comprise what is new ? Is 
it not the glory of the people of America, that whilst they have 
paid a decent regard to the opinions of former times and other 
nations, they have not suffered a blind veneration for antiquity, 
for custom, or for names, to overrule the suggestions of their 
own good sense, the knowledge of their own situation, and the 
lesson of their own experience ? To this manly spirit, pos- 
terity will be indebted for the possession, and the world for the 
example, of the numerous innovations displayed on the Ameri- 
can theatre, in favor of private rights and public happiness. 
Had no important step been taken by the leaders of the revolu- 
tion, for which a precedent could not be discovered, no govern- 
ment established, of which an exact model did not present itself, 
the people of the United States might, at this moment, have 
been numbered among the melancholy victims of misguided 
coyncils ; must, at best, have been laboring under the weight 
of some of those forms which have crushed the liberties of the 
rest of mankind. Happily for America, happily we trust for 
the whole human race, they pursued a new and more noble 
course. They accomplished a revolution which has no parallel 
in the annals of human society. They reared the fabric of 
governments which have no model en the face of the globe. 
They formed the design of a great confederacy, which it is 
incumbent on their successors to improve and perpetuate. If 
their works betray imperfections, we wonder at the fewness 
of them. If they erred most in the structure of the union, 
this was the most difficult to be executed; this is the wc:k 
which has been new-modeled by the act of your convent % 
and it is that act on which you are now to deliberate are -C 
decide. 



56 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 



40 PURPOSE OF THE MONUMENT ON BUNKER'S HILL.— 

Webster. 

We know that the record of illustrious actions is most safely 
deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind. We 
know, that if we could cause this structure to ascend, not only 
till it reached the skies, but till it pierced them, its broad sur- 
face could still contain but part of that, which, in an age of 
knowledge, hath already been spread over the earth, and which 
history charges herself with making known to all future times. 
We know that no inscription, on intablatures less broad than 
the earth itself, can carry information of the events we com- 
memorate where it has not already gone ; and that no structure 
which shall not outlive the duration of letters and knowledge 
among men, can prolong the memorial. But our object is, by 
this edifice, to show our deep sense of the value and impor 
tance of the achievements of our ancestors ; and by presenting 
this work of gratitude to the eye, to keep alive similar senti- 
ments, and to foster a similar regard, to the principles of the 
revolution. Human beings are composed not of reason only 
but of imagination also, and sentiment ; and that is neither 
wasted nor misapplied, which is appropriated to the purpose 
of giving right direction to sentiments, and opening proper 
springs of feeling in the heart. 

Let it not be supposed that our object is to perpetuate na- 
tional hostility, or even to cherish a mere military spirit. It is 
higher, purer, nobler. We consecrate our work to the spirit of 
national independence, and we wish that the light of peace may 
rest upon it for ever. We rear a memorial of our conviction of 
the unmeasured benefit which has been conferred on our land, 
and of the happy influences, which have been produced, by the 
same events, on the general interests of mankind. We come, 
as Americans, to mark a spot, which must be for ever dear to 
us, and our posterity. We wish that whosoever, in all coming 
time, shall turn his eyes hither, may behold that the place is not 
undistinguished where the first great battle of the revolution was 
fought. We wish, that this structure may proclaim the magni- 
tude and importance of that event to every class and every age 
We wish, that infancy may learn the purpose of its erection 
from maternal lips, and that weary and withered age may te- 
hold it, and be solaced by the recollections which it suggesis. 
We wish, that labor may look up here, and be proud, in thtt 
midst of its toil. We wish, that, in those days of disaster, 
which, as they come upon all nations, must be expected to 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 57 

come on us also, desponding patriotism may turn its eyss hithei, 
and be assured that the foundations of our national power still 
6tand strong. We wish, that this column, rising towards heaven 
among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God, 
may contribute also to produce, in all minds, a pious feeling of 
dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the last ob- 
ject on the sight of him who leaves his native shore, and the 
first to gladden him who revisits it, may be something which 
shall remind him of the liberty and glory of his country. 'Let 
it rise, till it meet the sun in his coming ; let the earliest light 
of morning gild it, and parting day linger and play upon its 
summit. 



41 ILLUSTRIOUS MODEL FOR THE FORMATION OF CHARACTER. 

— Wirt. 

Let your ambition, gentlemen, be to enroll your names among 
those over whose histories our hearts swell, and our eyes over- 
flow with admiration, delight and sympathy, from infancy to 
old age ; and the story of whose virtues, exploits, and suffer- 
ings, will continue to produce the same effect, throughout the 
world, at whatever distance of time they may be read. It is 
needless, and it were endless to name them. On the darker 
firmament of history, ancient and modern, they form a galaxy 
resplendent with their lustre. To go no farther back, look for 
your model to the signers of our declaration of independence. 
You see revived in those men, the spirit of ancient Rome in 
Rome's best day ; for they were willing, with Curtius, to leap 
into the flaming gulf, which the oracle of their own wisdom 
had assmed them could be closed in no other way. There was 
one, however, whose name is not among those signers, but who 
must not, nay, cannot be forgotten ; for, when a great and de- 
cided patriot is the theme, his name is not far off. Gentlemen, 
you need not go to past ages, nor to distant countries. You 
need not turn your eyes to ancient Greece, or Rome, or to 
modern Europe. You have in your own Washington, a recent 
model, whom you have only to imitate to become immortal. 
Nor, must you suppose that he owed his greatness to the pe- 
culiar crisis which called out his virtues ; and despair of such 
another crisis for the display of your own. His more than 
Roman virtues, his consummate prudence, his powerful intel- 
lect, and his dauntless decision and dignity of character, would 
have made him illustrious in any age. The crisis would have 
done nothing for him, had not his character stood ready to 



58 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

match it.* Acquire his character, and fear not the recurrence 
of a crisis to show forth its glory. Look at the elements of 
commotion that are already at work in this vast republic, and 
threatening us with a moral earthquake that will convulse it to 
its foundation. Look at the political degeneracy which per- 
vades the country, and which has already borne us so far away 
from the golden age of the revolution ; look at all " the signs 
of the times," and you will see but little cause to indulge the 
hope that no crisis is likely to recur to give full scope for the 
exertion of the most heroic virtues. Hence it is, that I so 
anxiously hold up to you the model of Washington. Form 
yourselves on that noble model. Strive to acquire his modesty 
his disinterestedness, his singleness of heart, his determined 
devotion to his country, his candor in deliberation, his accuracy 
of judgment, his invincible firmness of resolve, and then may 
you hope to be in your own age, what he was in his, — " first 
in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of your country- 
men." Commencing your career with this high strain of char- 
acter, your course will be as steady as the needle to the pole. 
Your end will be always virtuous, your means always noble. 
You will adorn as well as bless your country. You will exalt 
and illustrate the age in which you live. Your example will 
shake, like a tempest, that pestilential pool, in which the vir- 
tues of our people are already beginning to stagnate, and restore 
the waters and the atmosphere to their revolutionary purity. 



42. the bible. — Grimke. 

The Bible is the only book, which God has ever sent, the 
only one he ever will send, into this world. All other books 
are frail and transient as time, since they are only the registers 
of time ; but the Bible is durable as eternity, for its pages con- 
tain the records of eternity. All other books are weak and 
imperfect, like their author, man ; but the Bible is a transcript 
of infinite power and perfection. Every other volume is limited 
in its usefulness and influence ; but the Bible came forth con- 
quering and to conquer : rejoicing as a giant to run his course, 
and like the sun, " there is nothing hid from the heat thereof." 
The Bible only, of all the myriads of books the world has seen, 
is equally important and interesting to all mankind. Its tidings, 
whether of peace or of wo, are the same to the poor, the igno- 
rant, and the weak, as to the rich, the wise, and the powerful. 
Among the most remarkable of its attributes, is justice ; for it 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 59 

looks with impartial eyes on kings and on slaves, on the hero 
and the soldier, on philosophers and peasants, on the eloquent 
and the dumb. From all, it exacts the same obedience to its 
commandments, and promises to the good, the fruits of his 
labors ; to the evil, the reward of his hands. Nor are the 
purity and holiness, the wisdom, benevolence and truth of the 
Scriptures, less conspicuous, than their justice. In sublimity 
and beauty, in the descriptive and pathetic, in dignity and sim- 
plicity of narrative, in power and comprehensiveness, depth and 
variety of thought, in purity and elevation of sentiment, the 
most enthusiastic admirers of the heathen classics have con- 
ceded their inferiority to the Scriptures. The Bible, indeed, 
is the only universal classic, the classic of all mankind, of 
every age and counUy, of time and eternity, more humble and 
simple than the primer of the child, more grand and magnificent 
than the epic and the oration, the ode and the drama, when 
genius, with his chariot of fire, and his horses of fire, ascends 
in whirlwind, into the heaven of his own invention. It is the 
best classic the world has ever seen, the noblest that has ever 
honored and dignified the language of mortals ! 

If you boast that the Aristotles and the Platos, and the Tul- 
lies, of the classic ages, " dipped their pens in intellect," the 
sacred authors dipped theirs in inspiration. If those were the 
" secretaries of nature," these were the secretaries of the 
very Author of nature. If Greece and Rome have gathered 
into their cabinet of curiosities, the pearls of heathen poetry 
and eloquence, the diamonds of Pagan history and philosophy, 
God himself has treasured up in the Scriptures, the poetry and 
eloquence, the philosophy and history of sacred lawgivers, of 
prophets and apostles, of saints, evangelists and martyrs. In 
vajn may you seek for the pure and simple light of universal 
truth in the Augustan ages of antiquity. In the Bible only is 
die poet's wish fulfilled, 

u And like the sun, be all one boundless eye." 



3. change is not reform.— Randolph. 

Sir, — I see no wisdom in making this provision fox future 
changes. You must gi^e governments time to operate on the 
people, and give the people time to become gradually assimi- 
lated to their institutions. Almost anything is better than this 
state of perpetual uncertainty. A people may have the test 



60 UNITED STATES 8PEAKER. 

form of government that the wit of man ever ctevised ; and yet, 
from its uncertainty alone, may, in effect, live under the worst 
government in the world. Sir, how often must I repeat, that 
change is not reform. I am willing that this new constitution 
shall stand as long as it is possible for it to stand, and that, be- 
lieve me, is a very short time. Sir, it is in vain to deny it.-— 
They may say what they please about the old constitution — the 
defect is not there. It is not in the form of the old edifice, 
neither in the design nor the elevation : it is in the material — 
it is in the people of Virginia. To my knowledge that people 
are changed from what they have been. The four hundred men 
who went out to David were in debt. The partisans of Caesar 
were in debt. The fellow-laborers of Catiline were in debt.— 
And I defy you to show me a desperately indebted people, any 
where, who can bear a regular sober government. I throw the 
challenge to all who hear me. I say that the character of the 
good old Virginia planter — the man who owned from five to 
twenty slaves, or less, who lived by hard work, and who paid 
his debts, is passed away. A new order of things is come. 
The period has arrived of living by one's wits — of living by 
contracting debts that one cannot pay — and above all, of living 
by office -hunting. 

Sir, what do we see 1 Bankrupts — branded bankrupts — giv- 
ing great dinners — sending their children to the most expensive 
schools — giving grand parties — and just as well received as 
any body in society. I say, that in such a state of things, the 
old constitution was too good for them ; they could not bear it. 
No, sir — they could not bear a freehold suffrage and a property 
representation. 

I have always endeavored to do the people justice — but I will 
not flatter them — I will not pander to their appetite for change. 
I will do nothing to provide for change. I will not agree to 
any rule of future apportionment, or to any provision for future 
changes, called amendments to the constitution. They who 
love change — who delight in public confusion — who wish to 
feed the caldron, and make it bubble — may vote, if they please, 
for future changes. But by what spell — by what formula are 
you going to bind the people to all future time ? You may make 
what entries upon parchment you please. Give me a constitu* 
tion that will last for half a century — that is all I wish for. No 
constitution that you can make will last the one half of half a 
century. 

Sir, I will stake any thing short of my salvation, that those 
who are malcontent now, will be more malcontent three years 
hence than they are at this day. I have no favor for this con- 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 61 

stitution. I shall vote against its adoption, and I shall advise 
all the people of my district to set their faces — aye — and their 
shoulders against it. But if we are to have it — let us not have 
it with its death-warrant in its very face ; with the sardonic 
grin of death upon its countenance. 



44. NOT STRENGTH ENOUGH IN THE BOW. Webster. 

Mr. President, — When this debate, sir, was to be resumed, 
on Thursday morning, it so happened that it would have been 
convenient for me to be elsewhere. The honorable member, 
however, did not incline to put off the discussion to another 
day. He had a shot, he said, to return, and he wished to dis- 
charge it. That shot, sir, which it was kind thus to inform us 
was coming, that we might stand out of the way, or prepare 
ourselves to fall before it and die with decency, has now been 
received. Under all advantages, and with expectation awakened 
by the tone which it preceded, it has been discharged, and has 
spent its force. It may become me to say no more of its effect, 
than, that if nobody is found, after all, either killed or wounded 
by it, it is not the first time, in the history of human affairs, 
that the vigor and success of the war have not quite come up 
•o the lofty and sounding phrase of the manifesto. 

The gentleman, sir, in declining to postpone the debate, told 
the senate, with the emphasis of his hand upon his heart, that 
there was something rankling here, which he wished to relieve. 
But the gentleman disclaims having used the word rankling. 
It would not, Mr. President, be safe for the honorable member 
to appeal to those around him, upon the question, whether he 
did, in fact, make use of that word. But he may have been 
unconscious of it. At any rate it is enough that he disclaims 
it. But still, with or without the use of that particular word, 
he had yet something here, he said, of which he wished to rid 
himself by an immediate reply. In this respect, sir, I have a 
great advantage over the honorable gentleman. There is noth- 
ing here, sir, which gives me the slightest uneasiness ; neither 
fear, nor anger, nor that — which is sometimes more trouble- 
some than either — the consciousness of having been in the 
wrong. There is nothing, either originating here, or now 
received here, by the gentleman's shot. Nothing original, for 
I have not the slightest feeling of disrespect or unkindness 
towards the honorable member Some passages, it is true, had 
occurred since our acquaintance in this body, which I could 

6 



62 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

have wished might have been otherwise ; but I had used phi- 
losophy and forgotten them. When the honorable member 
rose, in his first speech, I paid him the respect of attentive 
listening ; and when he sat down, though surprised, and I must 
say, even astonished, at some of his opinions, nothing was 
farther from my intentions than to commence any personal 
warfare ; and through the whole of the few remarks I made in 
answer, I avoided studiously and carefully, every thing which 
I thought possible to be construed into disrespect. And, sir, 
while there is thus nothing originating here, which I wished 
at any time, or now wish to discharge, I must repeat, also, that 
nothing has been received here, which rankles, or in any way 
gives me annoyance. I will not accuse the honorable member 
of violating the rules of civilized war — I will not say that he 
poisoned his arrows. But whether his shafts were, or were 
not dipped in that which would have caused rankling, if they 
had reached, there was not, as it happened, quite strength 
enough in the bow to bring them to their mark. If he wishes 
now to find those shafts, he must look for them elsewhere ; 
Jiey will not be found fixed and quivering in the object at which 
they were aimed. 



45. national self-respect. — Beman. 

Far be it from me to cherish, in any shape, a spirit of na- 
tional prejudice, or to excite in others a disgusting national 
vanity. But when I reflect upon the part which this country 
is probably to act in the renovation of the world, I rejoice that 
I am a citizen of this great republic. This western continent 
has, at different periods, been the subject of every species of 
transatlantic abuse. In former days, some of the naturalists 
of Europe told us, that every thing here was constructed upon 
a small scale. The frowns of nature were represented as in- 
vesting the whole hemisphere we inhabit. It has been asserted, 
that the eternal storms, which are said to beat upon the brows 
of our mountains, and to roll the tide of desolation at their 
bases — the hurricanes which sweep our vales, and the volcanic 
fires which issue from a thousand flaming craters — the thunder- 
bolts which perpetually descend from heaven, and the earth- 
quakes, whose trepidations are felt to the very centre of our 
globe, have superinduced a degeneracy through all the produc- 
tions of nature. Men have been frightened into intellectual 
dwarfs, and the beasts of the forest have not attained more than 
half their ordinary growth! — While some of the lines and 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 63 

touches of this picture have been blotted out by the reversing 
hand of time, others have been added, which have, in some 
respects, carried the conceit still farther. In later days, and 
in some instances even down to the present period, it has been 
published and republished from the enlightened presses of the 
old world, that so strong is the tendency to deterioration on this 
continent, that the descendants of European ancestors are far 
inferior to the original stock from which they sprang. But 
inferior in what ? In national spirit and patriotic achievement ? 
Let the revolutionary conflict — the opening scenes at Boston, 
and the catastrophe at Yorktown — furnish the reply. Let Ben- 
nington and Saratoga support their respective claims. Inferior 
in enterprise ? Let the sail that whitens every ocean, and the 
commercial spirit that braves every element, and visits every 
bustling mart, refute the unfounded aspersion. Inferior in deeds 
of zeal and valor for the church ? Let our missionaries in the 
bosom of our own forest, in the distant regions of the east, 
and on the islands of the great Pacific, answer the question. 
Inferior in science, and letters, and the arts ? It is true our 
nation is young ; but we may challenge the world to furnish a 
national maturity which, in these respects, w T ill compare with 
ours. 

The character and institutions of this country have already 
produced a deep impression upon the world we inhabit. What 
but our example has stricken the chains of despotism from the 
provinces of South America — giving, by a single impulse, free- 
dom to half a hemisphere 1 A Washington here, has created a 
Bolivar there. The flag of independence which has long waved 
from the summit of our Alleghany, has now been answered by 
a corresponding signal from the heights of the Andes. And 
the same spirit, too, that came across the Atlantic wave with 
the pilgrims, and made the rock of Plymouth the corner-stone 
of freedom and of this republic, is traveling back to the east. 
It has already carried its influence into the cabinets of princes ; 
and it is, at this moment, sung by the Grecian bard, and emu- 
lated by the Grecian hero. 



46. THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON. Everett. 

It was one of those great days, one of those elemental occa- 
sions in the world's affairs, when the people rise and act for 
themselves. Some organization and preparation had been 
made ; but, from the nature of the case, with scarce any effecl 



64 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

on the events of that day. It may be doubted, whether there 
was an efficient order given the whole day to any body of men 
as large as a regiment. It was the people, in their first capa- 
city, as citizens and as freemen, starting from their beds at 
midnight, from their firesides and their fields, to take their 
own cause into their own hands. Such a spectacle is the 
height of the moral sublime ; when the want of every thing is 
fully made up by the spirit of the cause ; and the soul within 
stands in place of discipline, organization, resources. In the 
prodigious efforts of a veteran army, beneath the dazzling splen 
dor of their array, there is something revolting to the reflectin/ 
mind. The ranks are filled with the desperate, the mercenary 
the depraved ; and iron slavery, by the name of subordination 
merges the free will of one hundred thousand men in the un 
qualified despotism of one ; the humanity, mercy, and remorse 
which scarce ever desert the individual bosom, are sounds 
without a meaning to that fearful, ravenous, irrational monster 
of prey, a mercenary army. It is hard to say who are most 
to be commiserated, the wretched people on whom it is let 
loose, or the still more wretched people whose substance has 
been sucked out to nourish it into strength and fury. But in 
the efforts of the people, of the people struggling for their 
rights, moving, not in organized, disciplined masses, but in 
their spontaneous action, man for man, and heart for heart, — 
though I like not war nor any of its works, — there is something 
glorious. They can then move forward without orders, act 
together without combination, and brave the flaming lines of 
battle, without intrenchments to cover, or walls to shield them. 
No dissolute camp has worn off from the feelings of the youth- 
ful soldier the freshness of that home, where his mother and 
his sisters sit waiting, with tearful eyes and aching hearts, to 
hear good news from the wars ; no long service in the ranks 
of the conqueror has turned the veteran's heart into marble ; 
their valor springs not from recklessness, from habit, from 
indifference to the preservation of a life, knit by no pledges to 
the life of others ; but in the strength and spirit of the cause 
alone, they act, they contend, they bleed. In this they conquer. 
The people always conquer. They always must conquer. 
Armies may be defeated ; kings may be overthrown, and new 
dynasties imposed by foreign arms on an ignorant and slavish 
race, that care not in what language the covenant of their 
subjection runs, nor in whose name the deed of their barter 
and sale is made out. But the people never invade ; and when 
they rise against the invader, are never subdued. If they are 
driven from the plains, they fly to the mountains. Steep rocks 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 63 

and everlasting hills are their castles ; the tangled, pathless 
thicket their palisado ; and nature, — God, — is their ally. Now 
he overwhelms the host of their enemies beneath his drifting 
mountains of sand ; now he buries them beneath an atmo- 
sphere of falling snows ; he lets loose his tempests on theii 
fleets ; he puts a folly into their councils, a madness into the 
hearts of their leaders ; and he never gave, and never witf 
give, a full and final triumph over a virtuous, gallant people 
^esolved to be free. 



47. ENNOBLING RECOLLECTIONS OF THE REVOLUTION. 

Hayne. 

It has been usual, on occasions like the present, to give a 
history of the wrongs endured by our fathers. But, my friends, 
we have prouder, and more ennobling recollections, connected 
with our revolution. They are to be found in the spirit dis- 
played by our fathers, when all their petitions had been slighted, 
their remonstrances despised, and their appeals to the generous 
sympathies of their brethren utterly disregarded. Yes, my 
friends, theirs was that pure and lofty spirit of devoted patriot- 
ism, which never quailed beneath oppression, which braved all 
dangers, trampled upon difficulties, and in " the times which 
tried men's souls," taught them to be faithful to their principles, 
and to their country — true ; and which induced them in the 
very spirit of that Brutus (whose mantle has fallen, in our own 
day, upon the shoulders of one so worthy to wear it) to swear 
on the altar of liberty — to give themselves up wholly to their 
country. There is one characteristic, however, of the American 
revolution, which, constituting as it does, its living principle — 
its proud distinction, and its crowning glory — cannot be passed 
over in silence. It is this — that our revolution had its origin, 
not so much in the weight of actual oppression, as in the great 
principle — the sacred duty, of resistance to the exercise of 
unauthorized power. Other nations have been driven to rebel- 
lion by the iron hand of despotism, the insupportable weight 
of oppression, which leaving men nothing worth living for, has 
taken away the fear of death itself, and caused them to rush 
upon the spears of their enemies, or to break their chains upon 
the heads of their oppressors. But it was a tax of three-pence 
a pound upon tea, imposed without right, which was considered 
by our ancestors, as a burden too grievous to be borne. And 
why ? Because they were men " who felt oppression's lightest 

6* 



66 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

finger as a mountain weight," and, in the fine language of that 
just and beautiful tribute paid to their character by one, " whose 
praises will wear well 5 ' — they "judged of the grievance, by the 
badness of the principle, they augured misgovernment at a dis- 
tance, and snuffed the approach of tyranny in every tainted 
breeze" — because they were men, who, in the darkest hour, 
could say to their oppressors, " we have counted the cost, and 
find nothing so deplorable as voluntary slavery," and who were 
ready to exclaim with the orator of Virginia, " give me liberty 
or give me death." Theirs was the same spirit which inspired 
the immortal Hampden to resist, at the peril of his life, the im- 
position of ship-money, not because, as remarked by Burke, 
" the payment of twenty shillings would have ruined his fortune, 
tut because the payment of half twenty shillings on the prin- 
ciple on which it was demanded, would have made him a slave." 
It was the spirit of liberty which still abides on the earth, and 
whose home is in the bosoms of the brave — which but yester- 
day, in " beautiful France," restored their violated charter — 
which even now burns brightly on the towers of Belgium, and 
has rescued Poland from the tyrant's grasp — making their sons, 
aye, and their daughters too, the wonder and the admiration of 
the world, the pride and glory of the human race ! 



48. IMPOLICY OF THE "PROTECTING SYSTEM." Hayne. 

Surveying with the feelings of an American the actual con- 
dition of things, I should certainly be disposed to exchange all 
the blessings which the protecting system has produced, even 
in New-England, for those which it has destroyed. In the 
place of splendid villages, flourishing manufactories, joint-stock 
companies, and lordly proprietors, clothed in fine linen, and 
faring sumptuously every day, as a patriot, I should be disposed 
to say, give me back the ships which have been destroyed, the 
merchants which have been reduced to bankruptcy, the sailors 
that have been forced into foreign service, "the plundered 
ploughmen and beggared yeomanry," who have been driven 
from the pursuits of their choice into the gloomy walls of a 
manufactory ; give me back these, and, above all, give me back 
content — restore the peace and harmony which this system has 
destroyed, and I will consent that every manufacturing estab- 
lishment shall be razed to its foundation, which has been built 
up, and can only be sustained, by this accursed system. Sir, 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 67 

if wealth were the highest good of a nation, and pecuniary profit 
the only standard by which a wise policy could be measured, 
it would even then be more than questionable, how far this 
system could be justified. But there are higher and more sacred 
principles involved in this question, which cannot be safely 
disregarded ; there are considerations of justice, and political 
equality, which rise far above all calculations of mere profit and 
loss. Sir, what will it profit you, if you gain the whole world, 
and lose the hearts of your people ? This is a confederated 
government, founded on a spirit of mutual conciliation, conces- 
sion, and compromise ; and it is neither a just, prudent, nor 
rightful exercise of the high trust with which you are invested 
for the common good, to resort to a system of legislation by 
which benefits and burdens are unequally distributed. Sir, 
can any gentleman look this subject fairly in the face, and not 
perceive that such a government as ours (instituted for a few 
definite purposes, in which every portion of the union must, 
from the very nature of things, have a common interest) cannot 
turn aside from its high duties, and undertake to control the 
domestic industry of individuals, without undermining the very 
foundations of our republican system 1 It is contrary to the 
whole genius and character of our institutions, the very form 
and structure of our government, that it should undertake to 
regulate the whole labor and capital of this extensive country. 
A perseverance in this course will sow the seeds of dissension 
broadcast throughout the land ; and let it be remembered, that 
discord is not a plant of slow growth, but one that flourishes in 
every soil, and never fails to produce its fruit in due season 
What a spectacle do you even now exhibit to the world ? A 
large portion of your fellow-citizens, believing themselves to 
be grievously oppressed by an unwise and unconstitutional 
system, are clamoring at your doors for justice, while another 
portion, supposing that they are enjoying rich bounties under 
it, are treating their complaints with scorn and contempt. God 
only knows where all this is to end. But, it " will not, and it 
cannot, come to good." We at the south still call you our 
brethren, and have ever cherished towards you the strongest 
feelings of affection ; but were you the brothers of our blood, 
for whom we would coin our hearts, it is not in human nature 
that we should long continue to retain for you undiminished 
affection, when all hope of redress shall have passed away, 
and we shall continue to believe that you are visiting us with a 
hard and cruel oppression, and enforcing a cold, heartless, and 
selfish policy. 



68 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



49. SPLENDID TRIBUTE TO THE TALENTS OF CHATHAM — 

WirU 

Talents, whenever they have had a suitable theatre, have 
never failed to emerge from obscurity, and assume their proper 
tank in the estimation of the world. The jealous pride of power 
may attempt to repress and crush them ; the base and malignant 
rancor of impotent spleen and envy may strive to embarrass 
and retard their flight : but these efforts, so far from achieving 
their ignoble purpose, so far from producing a discernible ob- 
liquity in the ascent of genuine and vigorous talents, will serve 
only to increase their momentum, and mark their transit with 
an additional stream of glory. 

When the great earl of Chatham first made his appearance 
in the house of commons, and began to astonish and transport 
the British parliament and the British nation, by the boldness, 
the force, and range of his thoughts, and the celestial fire, and 
pathos of his eloquence, it is well known that the minister, 
Walpole, and his brother Horace, from motives very easily un- 
derstood, exerted all their wit, all their oratory, all their acquire- 
ments of every description, sustained and enforced by the 
unfeeling " insolence of office," to heave a mountain on his 
gigantic genius, and hide it from the world. — Poor and power- 
less attempt ! — The tables were turned. He rose upon them, 
in the might and irresistible energy of his genius, and in spite 
of all their convulsions, frantic agonies, and spasms, he strangled 
them and their whole faction, with as much ease as Hercules 
did the serpent Python. 

Who can turn over the debates of the day, and read the ac- 
count of this conflict between youthful ardor and hoary-headed 
cunning and power, without kindling in the cause of the tyro, 
and shouting at his victory 1 That they should have attempted 
to pass off the grand, yet solid and judicious operations of a 
mind like his, as being mere theatrical start and emotion ; the 
giddy, hair-brained eccentricities of a romantic boy ! That they 
should have had the presumption to suppose themselves capable 
of chaining down to the floor of the parliament, a genius so 
etherial, towering and sublime, seems unaccountable ! Why 
did they not, in the next breath, by way of crowning the climax 
of vanity, bid the magnificent fire-ball to descend from its ex- 
alted and appropriate region, and perform its splendid tour along 
the surface of the earth 1 

Talents, which are before the public, have nothing to dread, 
either from the jealous pride of power, or from the transient 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 69 

misrepresentations of party, spleen, or envy. In spite of oppo- 
sition from any cause, their buoyant spirit will lift them to their 
proper grade. 

The man who comes fairly before the world, and who pos- 
sesses the great and vigorous stamina which entitle him to a 
niche in the temple of glory, has no reason to dread the ulti- 
mate result ; however slow his progress may be, he will, in the 
end, most indubitably receive that distinction. While the rest, 
" the swallows of science," the butterflies of genius, may flutter 
for their spring ; but they will soon pass away, and be remem- 
bered no more. No enterprising man, therefore, and least of 
all, the truly great man, has reason to droop or repine at any 
efforts which he may suppose to be made with the view to de- 
press him. Let, then, the tempest of envy or of malice howl 
around him. His genius will consecrate him ; and any attempt 
to extinguish that, will be as unavailing, as would a human 
effort " to quench the stars." 



50. EXPOSURE TO THE HORRORS OF INDIAN OUTRAGE. Ames. 

But am I reduced to the necessity of proving this point ? 
Certainly the very men who charged the Indian war on the de- 
tention of the posts, will call for no other proof than the recital 
of their own speeches. It is remembered with what emphasis, 
with what acrimony, they expatiated on the burden of taxes, 
and the drain of blood and treasure into the western country, 
in consequence of Britain's holding the posts. Until the posts 
are restored, they exclaimed, the treasury and the frontiers 
must bleed. 

If any, against all these proofs, should maintain that the 
peace with the Indians will be stable without the posts, to them 
I will urge another reply. From arguments calculated to pro- 
duce conviction, I will appeal directly to the hearts of those 
who hear me, and ask, whether it is not already planted there 1 
I resort, especially, to the convictions of the western gentlemen, 
whether, supposing no posts and no treaty, the settlers will re- 
main in security ? Can they take it upon them to say, that an 
Indian peace, under these circumstances, will prove firm ? No, 
sir, it will not be peace, but a sword : it will be no better than 
a lure to draw victims within the reach of the tomahawk. 

On this theme, my emotions are unutterable. If I could find 
words for them, if my powers bore any proportion to my zeal, 
I would swell my voice to such a note of remonstrance, it should 



TO UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

reach every log-house beyond the mountains. I would say to 
the inhabitants, wake from your false security ; your cruel dan- 
gers, your more cruel apprehensions, are soon to be renewed ; 
the wounds, yet unhealed, are to be torn open again ; in the 
daytime, your path through the woods will be ambushed ; the 
darkness of midnight will glitter with the blaze of your dwell- 
ings. You are a father — the blood of your sons shall fatten 
your corn-fields : you are a mother — the war-whoop shall wake 
the sleep of the cradle. 

On this subject, you need not suspect any deception on your 
feelings. It is a spectacle of horror, which cannot be over- 
drawn. If you have nature in your hearts, it will speak a lan- 
guage, compared with which, all I have said or can say, will 
be poor and frigid. 

By rejecting the posts, we light the savage fires, we bind 
the victims. This day we undertake to render account to the 
widows and orphans whom our decision will make, to the 
wretches that will be roasted at the stake, to our country, and 
I do not deem it too serious to say, to conscience and to God. 
We are answerable, and if duty be any thing more than a word 
of imposture, if conscience be not a bugbear, we are preparing 
to make ourselves as wretched as our country. 

There is no mistake in this case, there can be none. Expe- 
rience has already been the prophet of events, and the cries of 
our future victims have already reached us. The western in- 
habitants are not a silent and uncomplaining sacrifice. The 
voice of humanity issues from the shade of their wilderness. 
It exclaims, that while one hand is held up to reject this treaty, 
the other grasps a tomahawk. It summons our imagination to 
the scenes that will open. It is no great effort of the imagina- 
tion to conceive that events so near are already begun. I can 
fancy that I listen to the yells of savage vengeance, and the 
shrieks of torture. Already they seem to sigh in the west 
wind — already they mingle with every echo from the moun- 
tains. 



51. SPECIMEN OF THE ELOQUENCE OF JAMES OTIS. — Francis. 

England may as well dam up the waters of the Nile with 
bulrushes, as to fetter the step of freedom, more proud and firm 
in this youthful land, than where she treads the sequestered 
glens of Scotland, or couches herself among the magnificent 
mountains of Switzerland. Arbitrary principles, like thosn 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE 71 

against which we now contend, have cost one king of England 
his life, another his crown — and they may yet cost a third his 
most flourishing colonies. 

We are two millions — one-fifth fighting men. We are bold 
and vigorous, and we call no man master. To the nation, from 
whom we are proud to derive our origin, we ever were, and we 
ever will be, ready to yield unforced assistance ; but it must 
not, and it never can be extorted. 

Some have sneeringly asked, " Are the Americans too poor 
to pay a few pounds on stamped paper ?" No ! America 
thanks to God and herself, is rich. But the right to take ten 
pounds, implies the right to take a thousand ; and what must 
be the wealth, that avarice, aided by power, cannot exhaust ? 
True, the spectre is now small ; but the shadow he casts before 
him is huge enough to darken all this fair land. Others, in 
sentimental style, talk of the immense debt of gratitude which 
we owe to England. And what is the amount of this debt 1 
Why, truly, it is the same that the young lion owes to the dam, 
which has brought it forth on the solitude of the mountain, or 
left it amid the winds and storms of the desert. 

We plunged into the wave, with the great charter of freedom 
in our teeth, because the faggot and torch were behind us. We 
have waked this new world from its savage lethargy ; forests 
have been prostrated in our path ; towns and cities have grown 
up suddenly as the flowers of the tropics, and the fires in our 
autumnal woods are scarcely more rapid, than the increase of 
our wealth and population. And do we owe all this to the kind 
succor of the mother country 1 No ! we owe it to the tyranny 
that drove us from her — to the pelting storms, which invigo- 
rated our helpless infancy. 

But perhaps others will say, " We ask no money from your 
gratitude — we only demand that you should pay your own ex- 
penses." And who, I pray, is to judge of their necessity ? 
Why, the king — (and with all due reverence to his sacred 
majesty, he understands the real wants of his distant subjects, 
as little as he does the language of the Choctaws.) Who is to 
judge concerning the frequency of these demands ? The min- 
istry. Who is to judge whether the money is properly ex- 
pended 1 The cabinet behind the throne. In every instance, 
those who take are to judge for those who pay ; if this system 
is suffered to go into operation, we shall have reason to esteem 
it a great privilege, that rain and dew do not depend upon par- 
liament ; otherwise they would soon be taxed and dried. 

But thanks to God, there is freedom enough left upon earth 
to resist silch monstrous injustice. The flame of liberty is 



Tl UNITED STATES SPEAKER. , 

extinguished in Greece and Rome, but the light of its glowing 
embers is still bright and strong on the shores of America 
Actuated by its sacred influence, we will resist unto death. But 
we will not countenance anarchy and misrule. The wrongs, 
that a desperate community have heaped upon their enemies, 
shall be amply and speedily repaired. Still, it may be well for 
some proud men to remember, that a fire is lighted in these 
colonies, which one breath of their king may kindle into such 
fury, that the blood of all England cannot extinguish it. 



52. DECISIVE INTEGRITY. Wirt 

The man who is so conscious of the rectitude of his inten- 
tions, as to be willing to open his bosom to the inspection of 
the world, is in possession of one of the strongest pillars of 
a decided character. The course of such a man will be firm 
and steady, because he has nothing to fear from the world, and 
is sure of the approbation and support of heaven. While he, 
who is conscious of secret and dark designs which, if known, 
would blast him, is perpetually shrinking and dodging from 
public observation, and is afraid of all around, and much more 
of all above him. 

Such a man may, indeed, pursue his iniquitous plans, stead- 
ily ; he may waste himself to a skeleton in the guilty pursuit : 
but it is impossible that he can pursue them with the same 
health-inspiring confidence, and exulting alacrity, with him 
who feels, at every step, that he is in the pursuit of honest 
ends, by honest means. The clear unclouded brow, the open 
countenance, the brilliant eye which can look an honest man 
steadfastly, yet courteously in the face, the healthfully beating 
heart, and the firm elastic step, belong to him whose bosom is 
free from guile, and who knows that all his motives and pur- 
poses are pure and right. Why should such a man falter in 
his course ? He may be slandered ; he may be deserted by 
the world ; but he has that within which will keep him erect, 
and enable him to move onward in his course, with his eyes 
fixed on heaven, which he knows will not desert him. 

Let your first step, then, in that discipline which is to give 
you decision of character, be the heroic determination to be 
honest men, and to preserve this character through every vicis- 
situde of fortune, and in every relation which connects you 
with society. I do not use this phrase, " honest men," in the 
narrow sense, merely, of meeting your pecuniary engagements, 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE 73 

and paying your debts ; for this the common pride of gentle- 
men will constrain you to do. I use it in its larger sense of 
discharging all your duties, both public and private, both open 
and secret, with the most scrupulous, heaven-attesting integrity; 
in that sense, farther, which drives from the bosom all little, 
dark, crooked, sordid, debasing considerations of self, and sub- 
stitutes in their place a bolder, loftier, and nobler spirit : one 
that will dispose you to consider yourselves as born, not so 
much for yourselves, as for your country, and your fellow- 
creatures, and which will lead you to act on every occasion 
sincerely, justly, generously, magnanimously. 

There is a morality on a larger scale, perfectly consistent 
with a just attention to your own affairs, which it would be 
the height of folly to neglect : a generous expansion, a proud 
elevation and conscious greatness of character, which is the 
best preparation for a decided course, in every situation into 
which you can be thrown ; and it is to this high and noble 
tone of character that I would have you to aspire. I would 
not have you to resemble those weak and meagre streamlets, 
which lose their direction at every petty impediment that pre- 
sents itself, and stop, and turn back, and creep around, and 
search out every little channel through which they may wind 
their feeble and sickly course. Nor yet would I have you 
resemble the headlong torrent that carries havoc in hs mad 
career. But I would have you like the ocean, that noblest 
emblem of majestic decision, which, in the calmest hour, still 
heaves its resistless might of waters to the shore, filling the 
heavens, day and night, with the echoes of its sublime declara- 
tion of independence, and tossing and sporting, on its bed, 
with an imperial consciousness of strength that laughs at op- 
position. It is this depth, and weight, and power, and parity 
of character, that I would have you to resemble ; and I would 
have you, like the waters of the ocean, to become the purer by 
your own action. 



53. illuminism. — Dwight. 

The illuminees were atheists, who, previously to the French 
revolution, were secretly associated in every part of Europe, 
with the view of destroying religion, and engrossing to them- 
selves the government of mankind. 

They were distinguished beyond every other class of men, 
for cunning, mischief, an absolute destitution of conscience, an 

7 



74 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

absolute disregard of all the interests of man, and a torpid 
insensibility to moral obligation. No fraternity, for so long a 
time, or to so great an extent, united within its pale such a 
mass of talents : or employed in its service such a succe*ssion 
of vigorous efforts. 

Their doctrines were, — that God is nothing ; that govern- 
ment is a curse, and authority a usurpation ; that civil society 
is only the apostasy of man ; that the possession of property 
is robbery ; that chastity and natural affection are mere pre- 
judices ; and that adultery, assassination, poisoning, and other 
crimes of a similar nature, are lawful, and even virtuous. 

Societies holding these abominable doctrines, spread with a 
rapidity which nothing but fact could have induced any sober 
mind to believe. Before the year 1786, they were established 
in great numbers throughout Germany, in Sweden, Russia, Po- 
land, Austria, Holland, France, Switzerland, Italy, England, 
Scotland, and even in America. 

Voltaire died in the year following the establishment of illu- 
minism. His disciples, with one heart, and one voice, united 
in its interests ; and, finding a more absolute system of cor- 
ruption than themselves had been able to form, entered eagerly 
into all its plans and purposes. Thenceforward, therefore, all 
the legions of infidelity were embarked in a single bottom ; and 
cruised together against order, peace, and virtue. When, then, 
the French revolution burst upon mankind, an ample field was 
opened for the labors of these abandoned men. 

Had not God taken the wise in their own craftiness, and 
caused the wicked to fall into the pit which they digged, and 
into the snares which their hands had set ; it is impossible to 
conjecture the extent to which they would have carried their 
devastation of human happiness. But, like the profligate rulers 
of Israel, those who succeeded, regularly destroyed their pre- 
decessors. 

The spirit of infidelity has the heart of a wolf, the fangs of 
a tiger, and the talons of a vulture. Blood is its proper nour- 
ishment ; and it scents its prey with the nerves of a hound, and 
cowers over a field of death on the sooty pinions of a fiend. 
Unlike all other animals of prey, it feeds upon its own kind ; 
and, when glutted with the blood of others, turns back upon 
those who have been its coadjutors. 

Between ninety and one hundred of those who were leaders 
LJ a trds mighty work of destruction, fell by the hand of violence. 
Enemies to all men, they were, of course, enemies to each 
other. Butchers of the human race, they soon whetted the 
knife for each other's throats : and the tremendous Being who 



AMERICAN* ELOQUENCE. 75 

rules the universe, whose existence they had denied in a solemn 
act of legislation, whose perfections they had made the butt of 
public scorn and private insult, whose Son they had crucified 
afresh, and whose word they had burnt by the hands of the 
common hangman ; swept them all by the hand of violence into 
an untimely grave. The tale made every ear which heard it 
tingle, and every heart chill with horror. It was, in the lan- 
guage of Ossian, " the song of death." It was like the reign of 
the plague in a populous city. Knell tolled upon knell ; hearse 
followed hearse ; and coffin rumbled after coffin ; without a 
mourner to shed a tear upon the corpse, or a solitary attendant 
to mark the place of the grave. From one new moon to another, 
and from one Sabbath to another, the w T orld went forth and 
looked after the carcasses of the men, who transgressed against 
God ; and they were an abhorring unto all flesh. 



54. la fayette. — Hillhouse 

Among all who have labored in the great cause of man, none 
has acted a more benevolent, consistent, and illustrious part, 
than he who left a brilliant destiny in Europe, to espouse the 
wrongs of these states. 

As if every thing conspired to prove his sincere convic- 
tions, and his noble disinterestedness, the moment of his em- 
bracing our cause was one of overwhelming gloom. So dis- 
couraging did our prospects seem, (Washington being then 
on his retreat through Jersey, with a handful of defeated fol- 
lowers,) that the American commissioners deemed themselves 
bound in conscience and honor, to dissuade a highly-connected 
youth from so unpromising an enterprise. His answer to their 
candid remonstrance embodies the spirit of his whole life. 
" Hitherto," said young La Fayette, " I have done no more 
than wish success to your cause. I now go to serve it. The 
more it has fallen in public opinion, the greater will be the 
effect of my departure. Since you cannot procure a vessel, I 
will purchase and fit one out at my own expense ; and I will 
also undertake to transmit your despatches to the congress." 
He purchased a vessel, eluded his pursuers, embarked, and made 
a successful winter passage over seas beset with British cruisers., 
He presented the despatches of our commissioners to the 
American congress, and, with them, made an offer of himself 

Here, my countrymen, let us pause. — Point me, if you are 
able, to a parallel, — for my own recollections do not supply it 



76 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

He was no needy adventurer pushing his fortunes in the new- 
world ; no disgraced profligate seeking to cover his branded 
front with a military chaplet ; no reckless misanthrope, embit- 
tered by disappointment, till perils had become grateful ; he 
was no follower of vulgar glory, no lover of the trade of murder. 
Adorned with talents and virtue, possessor of a princely reve- 
nue, basking in the royal favor, blessed with connubial hap- 
piness, — with hopes thick clustering round his noble head, " as 
blossoms on a bough in May," — he forsook all, came to us from 
beyond the ocean, asked leave to pay his own expenses, and 
fight, as a volunteer, in our naked and barefoot regiments ! 

"We were but warriors for the working day: 
Our gayness and our gilt were all besmirch'd 
With rainy marching in the painful field, 
And time had worn us into slovenry ; 
But, by the mass, our hearts were in the trim." 

What names stand out in history as virtuous heroes,— pa 
triots — self-devoted ? Does Alfred occur to you 1 — A prince 
by birth, he was reduced by the invaders of his country to the 
condition of an outlaw — obliged to refuge in dens, and caves, 
while his kingdom was pillaged before his eyes, and portioned 
out by barbarians. His incentive to heroic daring was personal 
degradation, a present foe, aggravated injury, — his recompense, 
his own rescued country and a throne. — Similar wrongs, sim- 
ilar incentives, nerved the virtuous and valiant heart of Gustavus. 
Himself imprisoned by Christiern, his country enthraled, injury 
on injury heaped on Sweden, — he, at last, broke loose, and 
poured the deluge from the hills of Dalecarlia. — Leonidas ! — 
Cato ! — Phocion !— Tell ! One peculiarity marks them all : 
they dared and suffered for their native land. Who else has 
ever gone forth, alone, to a distant shore, to combat for human 
rights in the cause of a weak, despised, and unknown people ? 
The pilgrim fathers, the men of the revolution must yield, in 
this last touch of disinterestedness, to the stranger. 



55. the birthday of Washington. — Webster. 

The name of Washington is intimately blended with what 
ever belongs most essentially to the prosperity, the liberty, the 
free institutions, and the renown of our country. That name 
was of power to rally a nation, in the hour of thick-thronging 
public disasters and calamities ; that name shone, amid the 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 77 

storm of war, a beacon light, to cheer and guide the country's 
friends ; it flamed, too, like a meteor, to repel her foes. That 
name, in the days of peace, was a loadstone, attracting to itself 
a whole people's confidence, a whole people's love, and the 
whole world's respect ; that name, descending with all time, 
spreading over the whole earth, and uttered in all the languages 
belonging to the tribes and races of men, will for ever be pro- 
nounced with affectionate gratitude by every one, in whose 
breast there shall arise an aspiration for human rights and 
human liberty. 

All experience evinces, that human sentiments are strongly 
influenced by associations. The recurrence of anniversaries, 
or of longer periods of time, naturally freshens the recollection, 
and deepens the impression, of events with which they are his- 
torically connected. Renowned places, also, have a power to 
awaken feeling, which all acknowledge. No American can 
pass by the fields of Bunker Hill, Monmouth, or Camden, as if 
they were ordinary spots on the earth's surface. Whoever 
visits them feels the sentiment of love of country kindling anew, 
as if the spirit that belonged to the transactions which have 
rendered these places distinguished, still hovered round, with 
power to move and excite all who in future time may approach 
them. 

But neither of these sources of emotion equals the power 
with which great moral examples affect the mind. When sub- 
lime virtues cease to be abstractions, when they become im- 
bodied in human character, and exemplified in human conduct, 
we should be false to our own nature, if we did not indulge in 
the spontaneous effusions of our gratitude and our admiration. 
A true lover of the virtue of patriotism delights to contemplate 
its purest models ; and that love of country may be well sus- 
pected, which affects to soar so high into the regions of senti- 
ment, as to be lost and absorbed in the abstract feeling, and be- 
comes too elevated, or too refined, to glow with fervor in v>« 
commendation or the love of individual benefactors. All this 
is unnatural. It is as if one should be so enthusiastic a lover 
of poetry, as to care nothing for Homer or Milton ; so passion- 
ately attached to eloquence, as to be indifferent to Tully and 
Chatham ; or such a devotee to the arts, in such an ecstacy 
with the elements of beauty, proportion, and expression, as to 
regard the masterpieces of Raphael and Michael Angelo with 
coldness or contempt. We may be assured, gentlemen, that he 
who really loves the thing itself, loves its finest exhibitions. A 
true friend of his country loves her friends and benefactors, and 
thinks it no degradation to commend and commemorate them. 

7* 



78 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

The voluntary outpouring of the public feeling, made to-day 
from the north to the south, and from the east to the west, 
proves this sentiment to be both just and natural. In the cities 
and in the villages, in the public temples and in the family- 
circles, among all ages and sexes, gladdened voices, to-day, 
bespeak grateful hearts, and a freshened recollection of the 
virtues of the father of his country. And it will be so, in all 
time to come, so long as public virtue is itself an object of re- 
gard. The ingenuous youth of America will hold up to them- 
selves the bright model of Washington's example, and study t n 
be what they behold ; they will contemplate his character, till 
all its virtues spread out and display themselves to their de- 
lighted vision ; as the earliest astronomers, the shepherds on 
the plains of Babylon, gazed at the stars till they saw them 
form into clusters and constellations, overpowering at length 
the eyes of the beholders with the united blaze of a thousand 
lights. 



56. IN FA FOR OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. Let. 

The Americans may become faithful friends to the English, 
but subjects, never. And even though union could be restored 
without rancor, it could not without danger. There are some 
who seem to dread the effects of the resolution. But will 
England, or can she manifest against us greater rigor and rage 
than she has already displayed 1 She deem^s resistance against 
oppression no less rebellion than independence itself. And 
where are those formidable troops that are to subdue the 
Americans ? What the English could not do, can it be done 
by Germans ? Are they more brave, or better disciplined ? 
The number of our enemies is increased ; but our own is not 
diminished, and the battles we have sustained have given us 
the practice of arms and the experience of war. 

America has arrived at a degree of power, which assigns her 
a place among independent nations : we are not less entitled to 
it than the English themselves. If they have wealth, so also 
have we ; if they are brave, so are we ; if they are more 
numerous, our population will soon equal theirs ; if they have 
men of renown as well in peace as in war, we likewise have 
such ; political revolutions produce great, brave, and generous 
spirits. From what we have already achieved in these painful 
beginnings, it is easy to presume what we shall hereafter 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 79 

accomplish ; for experience is the source of sage counsels, 
and liberty is the mother of great men. 

Have you not seen the enemy driven from Lexington by 
thirty thousand citizens, armed and assembled in one day 1 
Already their most celebrated generals have yielded, in Boston, 
to the skill of ours ; already their seamen, repulsed from our 
coasts, wander over the ocean, where they are the sport of 
tempests, and the prey of famine. Let us hail the favorable 
omen, and fight, not for the sake of knowing on what terms we 
are to be the slaves of England, but to secure ourselves a 
free existence, — to found a just and independent government. 
Animated by liberty, the Greeks repulsed the innumerable 
army of Persians ; sustained by the love of independence, the 
Swiss and the Dutch humbled the power of Austria by mem- 
orable defeat}, and ^nquered a rank among nations. The 
sun of Amei tea also shines upon the heads of the brave ; the 
point of our weapons is no less formidable than theirs ; here 
also the same union prevails, the same contempt of dangers 
and of death, in asserting the cause of our country. 

Why then do we longer delay, why still deliberate ? Let this 
most happy day give birth to the American republic. Let her 
arise, not to devastate and conquer, but to re-establish the reign 
of peace and of the laws. The eyes of Europe are fixed upon 
us ; she demands of us a living example of freedom, that may 
contrast, by the felicity of the citizens, with the ever-increasing 
tyranny which desolates her polluted shores. She invites us 
to prepare an asylum, where the unhappy may find solace, and 
the persecuted repose. She entreats us to cultivate a propi- 
tious soil, where that generous plant which first sprung up and 
grew in England, but is now withered by the poisonous blasts 
of Scottish tyranny, may revive and flourish, sheltering, under 
its salubrious and interminable shade, all the unfortunate of the 
human race. 

This is the end presaged by so many omens ; by our first 
victories, by the present ardor and union, by the flight of Howe, 
and the pestilence which broke out amongst Dunmore's people, 
by the very winds which baffled the enemy's fleets and trans- 
ports, and that terrible tempest which ingulphed seven hundred 
vessels upon the co>rst of Newfoundland. If we are not this 
day wanting in oui duty to our country, the names of the 
American legislators will be placed, by posterity, at the side 
of those of Theseus, of Lycurgus, of Romulus, of Numa, <>f 
the tl*ree Williams of Nassau, and of all those whose memory 
has been, and will be for ever dear to virtuous men and goov* 
citizens 



80 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



57 THE INFLUENCE OF KNOWLEDGE. WheatOU. 

Nothing seerr\s to be wanting to promote the progress of 
science and letters among us, but public sympathy, and a more 
active encouragement to every exertion of our literary men. 
In this they are to find both their reward and the incentive to 
fresh endeavors. This encouragement is especially due to 
every attempt to enlarge the means of instruction ; to draw 
science down from lofty abstractions to practical use ; to bring 
it home to men's business and bosoms— to diffuse a general 
taste for the liberal arts and letters throughout society. I will 
not speak to you of the agreeable relaxation to be found in 
these pursuits from the oppressive toils and cares of business, 
and the still more oppressive toils and cares of fashionable 
dissipation ; of their talismanic power to avert the malignant 
influence of that demon who lurks in the train of excessive 
civilization and refinement, and poisons the fountains of plea- 
sure in polished life. I will not remind you of the consolation 
afforded by the cultivation of letters in adversity — of the balm 
it ministers to the soul wounded in its dearest affections — of 
the pure and elevated enjoyments it bestows. I will not speak 
to you of these, because I know you will be influenced by 
other more disinterested and more patriotic motives to counte- 
nance with your protection and patronage the enterprise in 
which we are engaged. We believe that it is closely con- 
nected with the happiness of society, and with the permanent 
prosperity and true glory of our common country. We feel 
that it appeals powerfully to the wise and the good ; to those 
generous minds who do not despair of the commonwealth ; to 
those who would labor for a distant posterity with the certainty 
that their toils will not be unrequited. We inhabit a land of vast 
extent, possessing every variety of soil and climate, and abound- 
ing with natural scenery, the most picturesque, romantic, and 
grand. The increase of our population has, as yet, found little 
or no resistance in the want of the means of subsistence. Its 
tide is now swelling and overflowing in every direction ; and 
perhaps before some of those who are now present shall see 
death, it will equal, if not surpass, that of the greatest empires 
of the old world. But this rapid increase of numbers will 
not be attended with a correspondent increase of happiness, 
unless the region of intellect is cultivated, as well as that which 
yields a supply to our physical wants, Man has higher wants 
and capacities. His soul is filled with aspirations after know- 
ledge and fame ; with an insatiable thirst of happiness, which 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 81 

seeks for its gratification, not in the enjoyments of sense, but 
in the cultivation of the powers of his intellectual and moral 
nature. The sentiment of patriotism is not merely associated 
with the clods of the valley which gave us birth. It is com- 
plicated of the recollections of the great men our country has 
produced ; of their heroic and beneficent actions ; of affec- 
tion for its institutions, its manners, its fame in arts and in 
arms. This sentiment must be cherished and invigorated by 
associating with it an enlightened love of liberty — a taste for 
knowledge, and an ardent enthusiasm for those arts which lend 
to human existence its most refined enjoyments. Could the 
genius of our country reveal to our astonished view the future 
glories which await the progress of confederated America ; 
could he show us the countless millions who will swarm in 
the wide-spread valleys of the west, tasting of happiness, and 
sharing the blessings of equal laws ; could he unroll the pages 
of her history, and permit us to see the fierce struggles of her 
factions — the rapid mutations of her empire — the bloody fields 
of her triumphs and her disasters : could he crowd these awful 
visions upon our souls, we should then see that all the pros- 
perity that awaits us depends on the supremacy of mind — on 
the cultivation of the intellect — on the diffusion of knowledge 
and the arts ; not merely to the chosen few, but to that immense 
multitude who are at once invested with the privileges of free 
dom and the prerogatives of power. 



58. THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION AND THE REFORMATION. 

Grimke. 

The age of the American revolution is to the rights of man, 
what the age of the reformers was to his duties. This repub- 
lished the true principles of Christian liberty, obligation and 
happiness ; that of natural right, of political and civil freedom 
The reformation of Luther laid the foundation of the rights of 
man in society. The revolution of 1776 finished the super- 
structure of religious liberty. The principles of the protestant 
epoch remodeled the church— those of the American era, so- 
ciety and government. Daughters of the same divine parent, 
the religion of the Bible, they have foimded a new family among 
the nations. Whilst all Europe trembled, as with an earth- 
quake, amidst the convulsions of the thirty years' war, the 
foundations of this new family were laid at Jamestown and 
Plymouth. Here, on these western shores, savage and inhos 



82 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

pitable, the infant state was born, unnoticed and unknown, like 
the child in Revelations, that was hidden in the wilderness. 
Many a wild torrent of Indian massacre swept over our child- 
hood ; and left behind it the desolate pathway of the whirl- 
wind. Many a mountain- wave, from the battle-fields of Europe, 
rushed across the Atlantic ; and garments rolled in blood were 
the portion of our youth. As the prime of life approached, the 
children of the outcast and wanderer arose, and fought on their 
own soil, by the side, and in the cause of the parent nation. 
The prime of life came, and the principles of the reformation 
taught them, that independence was a right and a duty, when 
civil and political liberty was invaded. The gordian-knot of 
colonial obedience was severed : a fierce struggle for the mas- 
cery ensued : and it pleased the Almighty, that the victory 
should be ours. That victory was a consequence, however 
remote — a triumph, however unlooked for, of the reformation. 

The spirit of inquiry, first principles, thinking, reasoning, 
were the very essence, the genius of the reformation, in the 
age of Luther. The same were the essence, the genius of the 
revolution, under Washington. The protestant nations have 
surpassed all the rest of the European family in the depth and 
comprehensiveness, in the sublimity and beauty, in the richness 
and variety of their literature and science. Britain, the guardian 
angel of the liberty of Europe, the vanguard of civilization and 
freedom in the old world, — 

" She, in the soul of man, her better wealth, 
The richest : Nature's noblest produce, she 
The immortal mind in perfect height and strength, 
Bears with a prodigal opulence." 

And we, the only offspring nation ever bore, worthy of such 
an ancestry, we must not, we cannot, we shall not rest satisfied, 
with inferiority to English fame, in science and literature. The 
spirit of inquiry, first principles, thought, reasoning, these are 
the causes, which, under circumstances singularly felicitous, 
have made her in power and glory, in wisdom and ^ irtue, in 
wealth, happiness, freedom and knowledge, the greatest of 
European states, whether ancient or modern. And the same 
causes shall enable us, still more fortunate in situation, at 
our appointed day of meridian excellence, to ascend a loftier 
height of power and glory, of wisdom and virtue, of wealth, 
happiness, freedom and knowledge, than England has ever 
attained. She has accomplished all that an European people, 
subjects of a limited monarchy, can attain, under the transform- 
ing, regenerating influence of the reformation. She is the Rome 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 83 

of the modern world, but has far exceled the imperial republic 
of antiquity. We shall accomplish still more, in effecting all 
that an American people, citizens of a confederacy of republics, 
can perform, under the combined influence of the reformation 
and of our revolution. We shall be the Greece of the modern 
world, unrivaled by the literature of three thousand years. All, 
indeed, that the system of the reformers can bring to pass, our 
country, the only holy land of religious liberty, the only pro- 
mised land of political freedom, shall assuredly accomplish. 
Then shall our country be — emphatically, pre-eminently — the 
empire of mind, the republic of letters. 



59. THE GOODNESS OF GOD. WoTC&Ster. 

For what purpose did the infinite Creator give existence to 
this majestic monument of his almighty power ? For what 
purpose did he create the earth and the heavens, with all their 
unnumbered hosts ? Was it not evidently, that he might com- 
municate happiness ; and does not this design appear conspic- 
uous on the open face of nature ? What is the plain and une- 
quivocal indication of all those marks of infinite wisdom, and 
skilful contrivance, in the general dispositions, and in all parts 
of surrounding nature 1 Is it not, that the Creator of all things 
is infinitely good ? Is there not a display of infinite goodness, 
in the regular and harmonious disposition of the heavenly orbs ? 
Instead of this beautiful order, why was there not the most hor- 
rible confusion? Instead of this benignant harmony of the 
spheres, why was there not a perpetual jar, and the most dis- 
astrous concussion ? Is there not a display of infinite goodness 
in the grandeur and beauty of the creation, — so favorably 
adapted to elevate, to inspire with admiration, and fill with the 
purest pleasure, the devout and contemplative mind ? W r hy 
was not the whole creation so formed as only to excite amaze- 
ment, terror, and despair ? Is there not a display of infinite 
goodness in the beautiful scenery of our globe, — so agreeably 
diversified with continents and seas, islands and lakes, moun- 
tains and plains, hills and valleys, adapted to various beneficial 
purposes, and abounding with productions, in endless variety, 
for the convenience, the support, and the happiness of its diver- 
sified inhabitants ? Why was not the whole earth like the 
burning sands of Libya, or the rugged and frozen mountains of 
Zembla ? Why was it not one wide and dreary waste, pro- 
ducing only briers and thorns, and poisonous or hitter fruits ? 



84 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Is there not a display of infinite goodness in the grateful vicis 
situdes of the seasons, each bearing upon its bosom its peculiar 
delights ?- —the spring arrayed in the most beautiful verdure 
and decorated with flowers ; the summer abounding with de- 
lightful prospects, and teeming with luxuriance ; autumn loaded 
with golden harvests, and the richest variety of fruits ; and even 
winter supplying in social enjoyments, and the nobler pleas- 
ures of study and contemplation, what it lacks in external 
charms ? Why was not the whole year one continued scene 
of dull uniformity, or so irregular in its changes as utterly to 
baffle all the calculations, and arrangements, and pursuits of 
life ? Why was not every sight a spectacle of horror, every 
sound a shriek of distress, every sweet a most pungent bitter, 
every gale a blast of pestilence 1 Is it not because the Creator 
and Preserver of the world, is a being of infinite goodness 1 Is 
it not strange, that we do not constantly perceive the glory of 
God, which the heavens declare, and gratefully recognize his 
goodness, so richly spread abroad through all his works 1 Hap- 
py, happy were it for us, did nature constantly appear to us as 
it really is, animated and enlivened by its glorious Author! 
When the sun rises or sets in the heavens, when spring adorns 
the earth, when summer shines in its glory, when autumn pours 
forth its fruits, or when winter returns in its awful forms, happy 
were it for us, did we constantly view the great Creator and 
Preserver of all, continually manifesting himself in his various 
works ! Happy, did we meet his presence in the smiling fields, 
feel his influence in the cheering beams, hear his voice even 
in the whispering breeze, and taste his goodness in every gift 
of nature and providence ! Happy, did we feel ourselves every 
where surrounded with the glory of that universal Spirit, who 
fills, pervades and enlivens all ; and did we live in the world, 
as in a great and august temple, where the presence of the 
Divinity who inhabits it, fills the mind with awe, and inspires 
the heart with devotion ! 



60. BURR AND BLANNERHASSET. Wirt, 

Who is Blannerhasset t A native of Ireland, a man of let- 
ters, who fled from the storms of his own country to find quiet 
in ours. Possessing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, 
he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic 
embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shenstone might 
have envied, blooms around him ; music, which might have 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 85 

cfiarmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his ; an extensive library 
spreads its treasures before him ; a philosophical apparatus of- 
fers to him all the secrets and mysteries of nature: peace, tran- 
quillity, and innocence, shed their mingled delights around him: 
and to crown the enchantment of the scene, a wife, who is said 
to be lovely even beyond her sex, and graced with every ac- 
complishment that can render it irresistible, had blessed him 
with her love, and made him the father of her children. The 
evidence would convince you, sir, that this is only a faint pic- 
ture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this inno- 
cence, and this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure ban- 
quet of the heart — the destroyer comes ; he comes to turn this 
paradise into a hell. A stranger presents himself. It is Aaron 
Burr ! Introduced to their civilities by the high rank which he 
had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their 
hearts by the dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the light 
and beauty of his conversation, and the seductive and fascina- 
ting power of his address. The conquest was not a difficult 
one. Innocence is ever simple and credulous ; conscious of no 
designs of itself, it suspects none in others ; it wears no guards 
before its breast ; every door, and portal, and avenue of the 
neart is thrown open, and all who choose it enter. Such was 
the state of Eden, when the serpent entered its bowers. The 
prisoner in a more engaging form, winding himself into the open 
and unpractised heart of the unfortunate Blannerhasset, found 
but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart 
and the objects of its affection. By degrees he infuses into it 
the poison of his own ambition ; he breathes into it the fire of 
his own courage ; a daring and desperate thirst for glory ; an 
ardor panting for all the storms, and bustle, and hurricane of life. 
In a short time the whole man is changed, and every object of 
his former delight relinquished. No more he enjoys the tran 
quil scene ; it has become flat and insipid to his taste ; his books 
are abandoned ; his retort and crucible are thrown aside ; his 
shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon the air in 
vain ; he likes it not ; his ear no longer drinks the rich melody 
of music ; it longs for the trumpet's clangor and the cannon's 
roar : even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longei 
affects him ; and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto 
touched his bosom with ecstacy so unspeakable, is now unseen 
and unfelt. Greater objects have taken possession of his soul- 
his imagination has been dazzled by visions of diadems, and stars 
and garters, and titles of nobility ; he has been taught to bum 
with restless emulation at the names of Cromwell, Cesar, and 
Bonaparte. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse 

8 



86 UNITED STATES SPEAKER, 

into a desert ; and in a few months we find the tender and beau- 
tiful partner of his bosom, whom he lately " permitted not the 
winds of summer to visit too roughly," — we find her shivering, 
at midnight, on the winter banks of the Ohio, and mingling her 
tears with the torrents that froze as they fell. Yet this unfor- 
tunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his happiness — 
thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace — thus con- 
founded in the toils which were deliberately spread for him, and 
overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of another ; — 
this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a subordi- 
nate part in this grand drama of guilt and treason, this man is 
to be called the principal offender ; while he, by whom he was 
thus plunged and steeped in misery, is comparatively innocent 
— a mere accessary. Sir, neither the human heart, nor the 
human understanding, will bear a perversion so monstrous and 
absurd ; so shocking to the soul ; so revolting to reason. 



61. ELOQUENT APPEAL IN BEHALF OF GREECE. Clay. 

Mr. Chairman, — There is reason to apprehend that a tre- 
mendous storm is ready to burst upon our happy country— one 
which may call into action all our vigor, courage, and resources, 
Is it wise or prudent, then, sir, in preparing to breast the storm, 
if it must come, to talk to this nation of its incompetency to 
repel European aggression, to lower its spirit, to weaken its 
moral energy, and to qualify it for easy conquest and base sub- 
mission ! If there be any reality in the dangers which are 
supposed to encompass us, should we not animate the people, 
and adjure them to believe, as I do, that our resources are 
ample ; and that we can bring into the field a million of free- 
men ready to exhaust their last drop of blood, and to spend their 
last cent in the defense of the country, its liberty and its insti- 
tutions 1 Sir, are we, if united, to be conquered by all Europe 
combined 1 No, sir, no united nation that resolves to be free, 
can be conquered. And has it come to this ? Are we so hum- 
ble, so low, so debased, that we dare not express our sympathy 
for suffering Greece ; that we dare not articulate our detestation 
of the brutal excesses of which she has been the bleeding vic- 
tim, lest we might offend one or more of their imperial and royal 
majesties ? Are we so mean, so base, so despicable, that we 
may not attempt to express our horror, utter our indignation, 
at the most brutal and atrocious war that ever stained earth or 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 87 

shocked high heaven ; at the ferocious deeds of a savage and 
infuriated soldiery, stimulated and urged on by the clergy of a 
fanatical and inimical religion, and rioting in all the excesses 
of blood and butchery, at the mere details of which the heart 
sickens and recoils ? 

But, sir, it is not for Greece alone that I desire to see the 
measure adopted. It will give her but little support, and that 
purely of a moral kind. It is principally for America, for the 
credit and character of our common country, for our own unsul 
lied name, that I hope to see it pass. What appearance, Mr 
Chairman, on the page of history, would a record like this ex- 
hibit 1 "In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and 
Savior 1824, while all European Christendom beheld with cold 
and unfeeling indifference, the unexampled wrongs and inex- 
pressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition was made 
in the congress of the United States, almost the sole, the last, 
the greatest depository of human hope and freedom, the repre- 
sentatives of a gallant nation, containing a million of freemen 
ready to fly. to arms, while the people of that nation were spon- 
taneously expressing its deep-toned feeling, and the whole con- 
tinent, by one simultaneous emotion, was rising and solemnly 
and anxiously supplicating and invoking high heaven to spare 
and succor Greece, and to invigorate her arms, in her glorious 
cause, while temples and senate-houses were alike resounding 
with one burst of generous and holy sympathy, — in the year of 
our Lord and Savior, that Savior of Greece and of us — a pro- 
position was offered in the American congress to send a mes- 
senger to Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, with 
a kind expression of our good wishes and our sympathies — and 
it was rejected !" Go home, if you can; go home, if you dare, 
to your constituents, and tell them that you voted it down. Meet, 
if you can, the appalling countenance of those who sent you 
here, and tell them that you shrunk from the declaration of your 
own sentiments : — that you cannot tell how, but that some un- 
known dread, some indescribable apprehension, some indefina- 
ble danger, drove you from your purpose : — that the spectres 
of scimitars, and crowns, and crescents, gleamed before you, 
and alarmed you : — and that you suppressed all the noble feel 
ings prompted by religion, by liberty, by national independence, 
and by humanity. I cannot, sir, bring myself to believe that 
such will be the feelings of a majority of this committee. But, 
for myself, though every friend of the cause should desert it, and 
I be left to stand alone with the gentleman from Massachusetts, 
I will give to his resolution the poor sanction of my unqualified 
approbation. 



88 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 



62. THE CRIMINALITY OF DUELING. NotU 

Hamilton yielded to the force of an imperious custom. And 
yielding, he sacrificed a life in which all had an interest — and 
he is lost— lost to his country — lost to his family — lost to us. 

For this act, because he disclaimed it, and was penitent, I 

forgive him. But there are those whom I cannot forgive. I 
mean not his antagonist — over whose erring steps, if there be 
tears in heaven, a pious mother looks down and weeps. If he 
be capable of feeling, he suffers already all that humanity can 
suffer. Suffers, and wherever he may fly will suffer, with the 
poignant recollection of having taken the life of one who was 
too magnanimous in return to attempt his own. Had he have* 
known this, it must have paralyzed his arm while he pointed, 
at so incorruptible a bosom, the instrument of death. Does he 
know this now, his heart, if it be not adamant, must soften — if 

it be not ice, it must melt But on this article I forbear 

Stained with blood as he is, if he be penitent, I forgive him-— » 
and if he be not, before these altars, where all of us appear as 
suppliants, I wish not to excite your vengeance, but rather, in 
behalf of an object rendered wretched and pitiable by crime, to 
wake your prayers. 

But I have said, and I repeat it, there are those whom I can- 
not forgive. 

I cannot forgive that minister at the altar, who has hitherto 
forborne to remonstrate on this subject. I cannot forgive that 
public prosecutor, who, entrusted with the duty of avenging his 
country's wrongs, has seen these wrongs, and taken no mea- 
sures to avenge them. I cannot forgive that judge upon the 
bench, or that governor in the chair of state, who has lightly 
passed over such offences. I cannot forgive the public in 
whose opinion the duelist finds a sanctuary. I cannot forgive 
you, my brethren, who till this late hour have been silent, 
whilst successive murders were committed. No ; I cannot 
forgive you, that you have not in common with the freemen of 
his state, raised your voice to the powers that be, and loudly 
and explicitly demanded an execution of your laws. Demanded 
this in a manner, which, if it did not reach the ear of govern- 
ment, would at least have reached the heavens, and have pleaded 
your excuse before the God that filleth them : in whose presence 
as I stand, I should not feel myself innocent of the blood which 
crieth ag > ainst us, had I been silent. But I have not been silent. 
Many of you who hear me are my witnesses — the walls of 
yonder temple, where I have heretofore addressed you, are my 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE 89 

witnesses, how freely I have animadverted on this subject, in 
the presence both of those who have violated the laws, and of 
those whose indispensable duty it is to see the laws executed 
on those who violate them. 

I enjoy another opportunity ; and would to God, I might be 
permitted to approach for once the last scene of death. Would 
to God, I could there assemble on the one side the disconso- 
late mother with her seven fatherless children — and on the other 
those who administer the justice of my country. Could I do 
this, I would point them to these sad objects. I would entreat 
tfiem, by the agonies of bereaved fondness, to listen to the 
widow's heartfelt groans ; to mark the orphan's sighs and tears 
— and having done this, I would uncover the breathless corpse 
of Hamilton — I would lift from his gaping wound his bloody 
mantle — I would hold it up to heaven before them, and I would 
ask, in the name of God, I would ask, whether at the sight of 
it they felt no compunction. Ye who have hearts of pity — ye 
who have experienced the anguish of dissolving friendship — 
who have wept, and still weep over the moldering ruins of de- 
parted kindred, ye can enter into this reflection. 

O thou disconsolate widow ! robbed, so cruelly robbed, and 
in so short a time, both of a husband and a son ! what must be 
the plenitude of thy sufferings ! Could we approach thee, 
gladly would we drop the tear of sympathy, and pour into thy 
bleeding bosom the balm of consolation. But how could we 
comfort her whom God hath not comforted ! To his throne, 
let us lift up our voice and weep. O God ! if thou art still the 
widow's husband, and the father of the fatherless — if, in the 
fullness of thy goodness, there be yet mercies in store for mis- 
erable mortals, pity, O pity this afflicted mother, and grant that 
her hapless orphans may find a friend, a benefactor, a father in 
Thee! 



63. AGAINST THE INVASION OF CANADA. Gaston. 

Mr. Chairman, — There is something in the character of a 
war made upon the people of a country, to force them to aban- 
don a government which they cherish, and to become the sub- 
jects or the associates of the invaders, which necessarily in- 
volves calamities beyond those incident to ordinary wars. — 
Among us some remain who remember the horrors of the inva- 
sion of the revolution, " and others of us have hung with rev- 
erence on the lips of narrative old age, as it related the interest- 
ing tale." Such a war is not a contest between those only 

8* 



90 tTNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

who seek for renown in military achievements, or the more 
humble mercenaries " whose business 'tis to die." It breaks 
in upon all the charities of domestic life, and interrupts all the 
pursuits of industry. The peasant quits his plough, and the 
mechanic is hurried from his shop, to commence without ap- 
prenticeship, the exercise of the trade of death. The irreg- 
ularity of the resistance which is opposed to the invader, its 
occasional obstinacy, and occasional intermission, provoking 
every bad passion of his soldiery, is the excuse for plunder, 
lust, and cruelty. These atrocities exasperate the sufferers to 
revenge ; and every weapon which anger can supply, and every 
device which ingenious hatred can conceive, is used to inflict 
vengeance on the detested foe. 

But there is yet a more horrible war than this. As there is 
no anger so deadly as the anger of a friend, there is no war so 
ferocious as that which is waged between men of the same 
blood and formerly connected by the closest ties of affection. 
The pen of the historian confesses its inability to describe, the 
fervid fancy of the poet cannot realize, the horrors of a civil 
war. The invasion of Canada involves the miseries of both 
these species of war. You carry fire and sword among a people 
who are " united against you to a man ;" among a people who 
are happy in themselves, and satisfied with their condition ; 
who view you not as coming to emancipate them from thraldom, 
but to reduce them to a foreign yoke. A people long and inti- 
mately connected with the bordering inhabitants of our country 
by commercial intercourse, by the ties of hospitality, and by the 
bonds of affinity and blood — a people, as to every social and 
individual relation, long identified with your own. It must be 
that such a war will rouse the spirit of sanguinary ferocity, that 
will overleap every holy barrier of nature and venerable usage 
of civilization. Already has " the bayonet of the brother been 
actually opposed to the breast of the brother." Merciful hea- 
ven ! that those who have been rocked in the same cradle, by 
the same maternal hand — who have imbibed the first genial 
nourishment of infant existence from the same blessed source 
should be forced to contend in impious strife for the destruction 
of that being derived from their common parents. Every feel- 
ing of our nature cries aloud against it. 

Before we enter, Mr. Chairman, upon this career of cold- 
blooded massacre, it behooves us, by every obligation which 
we owe to God, to our fellow-men, and to ourselves, to be 
certain that the right is with us, or that the duty is imperative. 
Think for a moment, sir, on the consequences. True courage 
shuts not its eyes upon danger or its result. It views them 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 91 

steadily and calmly. Already this Canadian war has a char- 
acter sufficiently cruel. Your part of it may, perhaps, be ably 
sustained — your way through the Canadas may be traced afar 
off by the smoke of their burning villages — your path may be 
marked by the blood of their furious peasantry — you may render 
your course audible by the frantic shrieks of their women and 
children. But your own sacred soil will also be the scene of 
this drama of fiends. Your exposed and defenseless seaboard, 
the seaboard of the south, will invite a terrible vengeance. An 
intestine foe, too, may be roused to assassination and brutality. 
Yes, sir, a foe that will be found every where, in our fields, in 
our kitchens, and in our chambers ; a foe, ignorant, degraded, 
by habits of servitude, uncurbed by moral restraints ; a foe, 
whom no recollections of former kindness will soften, and 
whom the remembrance of severity will goad to frenzy; a foe, 
from whom nor age, nor infancy, nor beauty, will find reverence 
or pity. Yes, such a foe may be added to fill up the measure 
of our calamities. 

Reflect, then, well, I conjure you, before reflection is too 
late ; let not passion or prejudice dictate the decision ; if erro- 
neous, its reversal may be decreed by a nation's miseries, and 
by the world's abhorrence. 



64. THE UNITED STATES NAVY, FRANCE, AND GREAT BRITAIN. 

— Lloyd. 

If we are going to war with Great Britain, let it be a real, 
effectual, vigorous war. Give us a naval force ; this is the sen- 
sitive chord you can touch, and which would have more effect 
on her than ten armies. Give us thirty swift sailing, well- 
appointed frigates — they are better than seventy-fours ; two 
thirty-six gun frigates can be built and maintained for the same 
expense as one seventy-four, and for the purpose of annoyance, 
for which we want them, they are better than two seventy- 
fours : they are managed easier, ought to sail faster, and can 
be navigated in shoaler water — we do not want seventy-fours 
— courage being equal, in line of battle ships, skill and expe- 
rience will always ensure success — we are not ripe for them — 
but butt-bolt the side of an American to that of a British frigate, 
and though we should lose sometimes, we should win as often 
is we should lose. The whole revolutionary war, when we 
met at sea on equal terms, would bear testimony in favor of 
this opinion. Give us, then, this little fleet well appointed— 



92 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

place your navy department under an able and spirited admin 
istration. Give tone to the service. Let a sentiment like the 
following precede every letter of instruction to the captain of a 
ship of war— -" Sir, the honor of the nation is, in a degree, 
attached to the flag of your vessel ; remember that it may be 
sunk without disgrace, but can never be struck without dis- 
honor." Do this— cashier every officer who struck his flag ; and 
you would soon have a good account of your navy. This may 
be said to be a hard tenor of service. Hard or easy, sir — em- 
bark in an actual vigorous war, and in a few weeks, perhaps 
days, I would engage completely to officer your whole fleet 
from New-England alone. 

Give us this little fleet, and in a quarter part of the time you 
could operate upon her in any other way, we would bring her 
to terms with you. Not to your feet. No, sir : Great Britain 
is at present the most colossal power the world ever witnessed 
-—her dominion extends from the rising to the setting sun. — 
Survey it for a moment. Commencing with the newly-found 
continent of New-Holland ; as she proceeds she embraces under 
her protection, or in her possession, the Philippine Islands, 
Java,, Sumatra — passes the coast of Malacca — rests for a short 
time fruitlessly to endeavor to number the countless millions of 
her subjects in Hindostan — winds into the sea of Arabia — 
skirts along the coasts of Coromandel and Ceylon — stops for a 
moment for refreshment at the Cape of Good Hope — visits 
her plantations of the Isles of France and Bourbon — sweeps 
along the whole of the Antilles — doubles Cape Horn to protect 
her whalemen in the northern and southern Pacific Oceans — 
crosses the American continent, from Queen Charlotte's Sound 
to Hudson's Bay — glancing in the passage at her colonies of 
the Canadas, Nova Scotia, and New-Brunswick — thence con- 
tinues to Newfoundland, to look after and foster her fisheries, 
and then takes her departure for the united kingdoms of Eng- 
land, Ireland, and Scotland, nor rests until she reaches the 
Orkneys— the ultima Thule of the geography of the ancients. 
Such an overgrown commercial and colonial power as this, 
never before existed. — True, sir, she has an enormous national 
debt of seven hundred millions of pounds sterling, and a diurnal 
expenditure of a million of dollars, which while we are whining 
about a want of resources, would in six short weeks wipe off 
the whole public debt of the United States. 

Will these millstones sink her 1 Will thev subiect her to 
the power of France ? No, sir : burst the bubble to-morrow — 
destroy the fragile basis on which her public credit stands, the 
single word, confidence — spunge her national debt — revolution 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 93 

ize her government — cut the throats of all her royal family — . 
and dreadful as would be the process, she would rise with reno- 
vated vigor from the fall, and present to her enemy a more im- 
posing, irresistible front than ever. No, sir, Great Britain cannot 
be subjugated by France ; the genius of her institutions ; the 
genuine, game-cock, bull-dog spirit of her people, will lift her 
head above the waves, long after the dynasty of Bonaparte, the 
ill-gotten power of France, collected by perfidy, plunder, and 
usurpation, like the unreal image of old, composed of clay, and 
of iron, and of brass, and of silver, and of gold, shall have 
cnimbled into atoms. 

As Great Britain wrongs us, I would tight her. Yet I should 
be worse than a barbarian, did I not rejoice that the sepulchres 
of our forefathers, which are in that country, would remain 
unsacked, and their coffins rest undisturbed, by the unhallowed 
rapacity of the Goths and Saracens of modern Europe. 



65 the ghost of banquo. — Webster. 

But, sir, the coalition ! The coalition ! Aye, "the murdered 
coalition!" The gentleman asks if I were led or frightened into 
this debate by the spectre of the coalition — " was it the ghost 
of the murdered coalition," he exclaims, " which haunted the 
member from Massachusetts ; and which, like the ghost of 
Banquo, would never down?" " The murdered coalition !" Sir, 
this charge of a coalition, in reference to the late administra- 
tion, is not original with the honorable member. It did not 
spring up in the senate. Whether as a fact, as an argument, 
or as an embellishment, it is all borrowed. He adopts it, in- 
deed, from a very low origin, and a still lower present condition. 
It is one of the thousand calumnies with which the press teemed, 
during an excited political canvass. It was a charge of which 
there was not only no proof or probability, but which was, in 
itself, wholly impossible to be true. No man, of common in 
formation, ever believed a syllable of it. Yet it was of that 
class of falsehoods, which, by continued repetition through all 
the organs of detraction and abuse, are capable of misleading 
those who are already far misled, and of further fanning passion, 
already kindled into flame. Doubtless, it served its day, and, 
in greater or less degree, the end designed by it. Having done 
that, it has sunk into the general mass of stale and lothed calum- 
nies. It is the very cast-off slough of a polluted and shameless 
press. Incapable of further mischief, it lies in the sewer, 



94 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

lifeless and despised. It is not now, sir, in the power of the 
honorable member to give it dignity or decency, by attempting 
to elevate it, or to introduce it into the senate. He cannot 
change it from what it is, an object of general disgust and 
scorn. On the contrary, the contact, if he choose to touch it, 
is more likely to drag him down, down to the place where it 
lies itself. 

But, sir, the honorable member was not, for other reasons, 
entirely happy in his allusion to the story of Banquo's murder 
and Banquo's ghost. It was not, I think, the friends, but the 
enemies of the murdered Banquo, at whose bidding the spirit 
would not down. The honorable gentleman is fresh in his read- 
ing of the English classics, and can put me right, if I am wrong; 
but, according to my poor recollection, it was at those who had 
begun with caresses, and ended with foul and treacherous mur- 
der, that the gory locks were shaken. The ghost of Banquo, 
like that of Hamlet, was an honest ghost. It disturbed no in- 
nocent man. It knew where its appearance would strike terror, 
and who would cry out, a ghost ! It made itself visible in the 
right quarter, and compelled the guilty and the conscience- 
smitten, and none others, to start, with 

11 Pr'y thee, see there ! behold! — look! lo! 
If I stand here, I saw him!" 

Their eyeballs were seared, (was it not so, sir,) who had 
thought to shield themselves, by concealing their own hand, 
and laying the imputation of the crime on a low and hireling 
agency in wickedness, who had vainly attempted to stifle the 
workings of their own coward consciences, by ejaculating, 
through white lips and chattering teeth, " thou canst not say I 
did it !" I have misread the great poet, if it was those who had 
no way partaken in the deed of the death, who either found that 
they were, or feared that they should be, pushed from their 
stools by the ghost of the slain, or who cried out to a spectre 
created by their own fears and their own remorse, " avaunt ! 
and quit our sight." 

There is another particular, sir, in which the honorable mem 
ber's quick perception of resemblances might, I should think, 
have seen something in the story of Banquo, making it not 
altogether a subject of the most pleasant contemplation. Those 
who murdered Banquo, what did they win by it ? Substantial 
good? Permanent power? Or disappointment, rather, and 
sore mortification — dust and ashes — the common fate of vault- 
ing ambition, overleaping itself? Did not even-handed justice, 
ere long, commend the poisoned chalice to their own lips ? — ■ 
Did they not soon find that for another they had " filed theii 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 95 

mind ?" — that their ambition, though apparently for the moment 
successful, had but put a barren sceptre in their grasp 1 Aye, sir — 

A barren sceptre in their gripe, 

Thence to be wrenched by an unlineal hand, 

No son of theirs succeeding." 

Sir, I need pursue the allusion no farther. J leave the hon- 
orable gentleman to run it out at his leisure, and to derive from 
it all the gratification it is calculated to administer. If he find 
nimself pleased with the associations, and prepared to be quite 
satisfied, though the parallel should be entirely completed, I 
had almost said, I am satisfied also — but that I shall think of. 
Yes, sir, I will think of that. 



66. VINDICATION OF SOUTH CAROLINA. McDujfie. 

Mr. Chairman,— A great and solemn crisis is evidently ap* 
proaching, and I admonish gentlemen, that it is the part of wis- 
dom, as well as of justice, to pause in this course of legislative 
tyranny and oppression, before they have driven a high-minded, 
loyal, and patriotic people, to something bordering on despair 
and desperation. Sir, if the ancestors of those who are now 
enduring — too patiently enduring, the oppressive burdens, un- 
justly imposed upon them — could return from their graves, and 
witness the change which the federal government, in one quarter 
of a century, has produced in the entire aspect of the country, 
they would hardly recognize it as the scene of their former 
activity and usefulness. Where all was cheerful, and prosper- 
ous, and flourishing, and happy, they would behold nothing but 
decay, and gloom, and desolation, without a spot of verdure- to 
break the dismal continuity, or even 

"A rose of the wilderness left on its stalk, 
To tell where the garden had been." 

Looking upon this sad reverse in the condition of their de- 
scendants, they would naturally inquire what moral, or political 
pestilence had passed over the land, to blast and wither the fair 
inheritance they had left them. And, sir, when they should be 
told, that a despotic power of taxation, infinitely more unjust 
and oppressive than that from which the country had been 
redeemed by their toils and sacrifices, was now assumed and 
exercised over us by our own brethren, they would indignantly 
exclaim, like the ghost of the murdered Hamlet, when urging 
his afflicted son to avenge the tarnished honor of his house, 

" If you have nature in you, bear it not" 



96 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Sir, I feel that I am called upon to vindicate the motives and 
the character of the people of South Carolina, from imputations 
which have been unjustly cast upon them. There is no state 
in this union distinguished by a more lofty and disinterested pa- 
triotism, than that which I have the honor, in part, to represent. 
[ can proudly and confidently appeal to history for proof of this 
assertion. No state has made greater sacrifices to vindicate 
the common rights of the union, and preserve its integrity. No 
state is more willing to make those sacrifices now, whether of 
blood or treasure. 

But, sir, it does not belong to this lofty spirit of patriotism, to 
submit to unjust and unconstitutional oppression, nor is South 
Carolina to be taunted with the charge of treason and rebellion, 
because she has the intelligence to understand her rights, and 
the spirit to maintain them. God has not planted in the breast 
of man, a higher and a holier principle, than that by which he 
is prompted to resist oppression. Absolute submission and 
passive obedience, to every extreme of tyranny, are the charac- 
teristics of slaves only. 

The oppression of the people of South Carolina, has been 
carried to an extremity, which the most slavish population on 
earth would not endure without a struggle. Is it to be expected, 
then, that freemen will patiently bow down and kiss the rod 
of the oppressor ? Freemen, did I say ? Why, sir, any one 
who has the form and bears the name of a man — nay, " a beast 
that wants discourse of reason," a dog, a sheep, a reptile — the 
rilest reptile that crawls upon the earth, without the gift of 
reason to comprehend the injustice of its injuries, would bite, 
or bruise, or sting the hand, by which they were inflicted. 

Is it, then, for a sovereign state to fold her arms and stand 
still in submissive apathy, when the loud clamors of the people, 
whom Providence has committed to her charge, are ascending 
to heaven for justice 1 Hug not this delusion to your breast, 
I pray you. 

It is not for me to say, in this place, what course South Caro- 
lina may deem it her duty to pursue, in this great emergency. 
It is enough to say, that she perfectly understands the ground 
which she occupies ; and be assured, sir, that whatever atti- 
tude she may assume, in her highest sovereign capacity, she 
will firmly and fearlessly maintain it, be the consequences what 
they may. The responsibility will not rest upon her, but upon 
her oppressors. 

I will say in conclusion, Mr. Chairman, that in all I have 
uttered, there has not been mingled one feeling of personal 
unkindness to svy human being, either in this house or out of 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 97 

ft. I have used strong language to be sure, but it has been 
uttered " more in sorrow than in anger." I have felt it to be 
a solemn duty, which I owed to my constituents, and to tfhis 
nation, to make one more solemn appeal to the justice of their 
oppressors. 

Let me, then, sir, beseech them, in the name of our common 
ancestors, whose blood was mingled together as a common 
offering, at the shrine of our common liberty — let me beseech 
them, by all the endearing recollections of our common history, 
and by every consideration that gives value to liberty and the 
union of these states, to retrace their steps as speedily as 
possible, and to relieve a high-minded and patriotic people 
from an unconstitutional and oppressive burden, which they 
cannot longer bear. 



67. SOUTH CAROLINA DURING THE REVOLUTION. Hayne. 

Mr. President, — The honorable gentleman from Massachu- 
setts, while he exonerates me personally from the charge, inti- 
mates that there is a party in the country, who are looking to 
disunion. Sir, if the gentleman had stopped there, the accusa- 
tion would " have passed by me as the idle wind which I regard 
not." But when he goes on to give his accusation a local hab- 
itation and a name, by quoting the expression of a distinguished 
citizen of South Carolina, — " that it was time for the south to 
calculate the value of the union," and in the language of the 
bitterest sarcasm, adds, — " surely then the union cannot last 
longer than July 1831," it is impossible to mistake either the 
allusion or the object of the gentleman. Now, Mr. President, 
I call upon every one who hears me, to bear witness that this 
controversy is not of my seeking. The senate will do me the 
justice to remember, that at the time this unprovoked and un- 
called for attack was made upon the south, not one word had 
been uttered by me in disparagement of New-England, nor had 
I made the most distant allusion either to the senator from Mas- 
sachusetts, or the state he represents. But, sir, that gentleman 
has thought proper, for purposes best known to himself, to strike 
the south through me, the most unworthy of her servants. He 
has crossed the border, he has invaded the state of South 
Carolina, is making war upon her citizens, and endeavoring to 
overthrow her principles and her institutions. Sir, when the 
gentleman provokes me to such a conflict, I meet him at the 
threshold — I will struggle while I have life, for our altars and 
our firesides ; and if God give me strength, will drive back the 

9 



98 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

invader discomfited. Nor shall I stop there. If the gentleman 
provoke the war, he shall have war. Sir, I will not stop at the 
border ; I will carry the war into the enemy's territory and not 
consent to lay down my arms, until I shall have obtained " in- 
demnity for the past, and security for the future." It is with 
unfeigned reluctance, Mr. President, that I enter upon the per- 
formance of this part of my duty — I shrink almost instinctively 
from a course, however necessary, which may have a tendency 
to excite sectional feelings and sectional jealousies. But, sir, 
the task has been forced upon me, and I proceed right onward 
to the performance of my duty. Be the consequences what 
they may, the responsibility is with those who have imposed 
upon me this necessity. The senator from Massachusetts has 
thought proper to cast the first stone, and if he shall find, ac- 
cording to th3 homely adage, that "he lives in a glass house" — 
on his head be the consequences. The gentleman has made a 
great flourish about his fidelity to Massachusetts — I shall make 
no professions of zeal for the interests and honor of South 
Carolina — of that my constituents shall judge. If there be 
one state in the union, Mr. President, (and I say it not in a 
boastful spirit,) that may challenge comparison with any other 
for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to 
the union, that state is South Carolina. Sir, from the very 
commencement of the revolution up to this hour, there is no 
sacrifice, however great, she has not cheerfully made ; no ser- 
vice she has ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered to 
you in your prosperity, but in your adversity she has clung to 
you with more than filial affection. No matter what was the 
condition of her domestic affairs, though deprived of her re- 
sources, divided by parties, or surrounded by difficulties, the 
call of the country has been to her as the voice of God. Do- 
mestic discord ceased at the sound — every man became at once 
reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all 
seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts to the 
altar of their common country. What, sir, was the conduct of 
the south during the revolution 1 Sir, I honor New-England 
for her conduct in that glorious struggle : but great as is the 
praise which belongs to her, I think at least equal honor is due 
to the south. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren with 
generous zeal which did not suffer them to stop to calculate 
their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother country, 
possessed of neither ships nor seamen to create commercial 
rivalship, they might have found in their situation a guaranty 
that their trade would be for ever fostered and protected by 
Great Britain. But trampling on all considerations, either of 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 99 

interest or of safety, they rushed into the conflict, and righting 
for principle, periled all in the sacred cause of freedom. Nevei 
was there exhibited in the histoiy of the world, higher exam 
pies of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, 
than by the whigs of Carolina during that revolution. The 
whole state, from the mountain to the sea, was overrun by an 
overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry 
perished on the spot where they were produced, or were con- 
sumed by the foe. The "plains of Carolina" drank up the 
most precious blood of her citizens— black and smoking ruins 
marked the places which had been the habitations of her chil- 
dren ! Driven from their homes into the gloomy and almost 
impenetrable swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived, 
and South Carolina, sustained by the example of her Sumpters 
and her Marions, proved by her conduct, that though her soil 
might be overrun, the spirit of her people was invincible. 



68. south Carolina and Massachusetts. — Webster. 

The eulogium pronounced on the character of the state of 
South Carolina by the honorable gentleman, for her revolution- 
ary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall 
not acknowledge, that the honorable member goes before me in 
regard for whatever of distinguished talent, or distinguished 
character, South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the 
honor : I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim 
them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, Rutledges, 
the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the Marions — -Americans all — 
whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by state lines, than 
their talents and patriotism were capable of being circum- 
scribed within the same narrow limits. 

In their day and generation, they served and honored the 
country, and the whole country, and their renown is of the 
treasures of the wiiole country. Him, whose honored name 
the gentleman bears himself — does he suppose me less capable 
of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, 
than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachu- 
setts, instead of South Carolina ? Sir, does he suppose it in 
his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright as to produce 
envy in my bosom? No, sir, — increased gratification and 
delight, rather. Sir, I thank God, that, if I am gifted with 
little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mortals to 
the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit which 
would drag angels down 



100 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

When I shall be found, sir, in my place here in the senate, 
or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to 
spring up beyond the little limits of my own state and neighbor- 
hood ; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the 
homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sin- 
cere devotion to liberty and the country ; or if I see an uncom- 
mon endowment of heaven — if I see extraordinary capacity 
and virtue in any son of the south — and if, moved by local 
prejudice, or gangrened by state jealousy, I get up here to abate 
the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may 
my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth •! 

Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections — let me indulge 
in refreshing remembrances of the past — let me remind you 
that in early times no states cherished greater harmony, both 
of principle 8nd of feeling, than Massachusetts and South Car- 
olina. Would to God, that harmony might again return. Shoul- 
der to shoulder they went through the revolution — hand in hand 
they stood round the administration of Washington, and felt his 
own great arm, lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it 
exist, alienation and distrust are the growth, unnatural to such 
soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the 
seeds of which that same great arm never scattered. 

Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massa- 
chusetts — she needs none. There she is — behold her and 
judge for yourselves. There is her history — the world knows 
it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, 
and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker's Hill ; and there 
they will remain for ever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the 
great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with the soil 
of every state, from New- England to Georgia ; and there they 
will lie for ever. 

And sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and 
where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, 
in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. 
If discord and disunion shall wound it — if party strife and blind 
ambition shall hawk at and tear it ; if folly and madness, if un 
easiness, under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed 
to separate it from that union, by which alone its existence is 
made sure, it will stand in the end, by the side of that cradle 
in which its infancy was rocked ; it will stretch forth its arm 
with whatever of vigor it may still retain, over the friends who 
gather round it : and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst 
the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot 
of its origin 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 101 



69. ADAMS AND JEFFERSON. Witt. 

In the structure of their characters ; in the course of their 
action ; in the striking coincidences which marked their high 
career ; in the lives and in the death of these illustrious men, 
and in that voice of admiration and gratitude which has since 
burst, with one accord, from the twelve millions of freemen 
who people these states, there is a moral sublimity which 
overwhelms the mind, and hushes all its powers into silent 
amazement. 

The European, who should have heard the sound without 
apprehending the cause, would be apt to inquire, — " What is the 
meaning of all this ? What have these men done to elicit this 
unanimous and splendid acclamation? Why has the whole 
American nation risen up, as one man, to do them honor, and 
offer to them this enthusiastic homage of the heart ? Were they 
mighty warriors, and was the peal that we have heard, the shout 
of victory ? Were they great commanders, returning from their 
distant conquests, surrounded with the spoils of war, and was 
this the sound of their triumphal procession? Were they 
covered with martial glory in any form, and was this ' the noisy 
wave of the multitude rolling back at their approach V " Noth- 
ing of all this : No ; they were peaceful and aged patriots, who, 
having served their country together, through their long and 
useful lives, had now sunk together to the tomb. They had not 
fought battles ; but they had formed and moved the great ma- 
chinery of which battles were only a small, and comparatively, 
trivial consequence. They had not commanded armies ; but 
they had commanded the master-springs of the nation, on which 
all its great political, as well as military movements, depended. 
By the wisdom and energy of their counsels, and by the potent 
mastery of their spirits, they had contributed pre-eminently to 
produce a mighty revolution, which has changed the aspect of 
the world. A revolution which, in one-half of that world, has 
already restored man to his "long lost liberty;" and government 
to its only legitimate object, the happiness of the people : and, 
on the other hemisphere, has thrown a light so strong, that even 
the darkness of despotism is beginning to recede. Compared 
with the solid glory of an achievement like this, what are bat- 
tles, and what the pomp of war, but the poor and fleeting pa- 
geants of a theatre ? What were the selfish and petty strides 
of Alexander, to conquer a little section of a savage world, 
compared with this generous, this magnificent advance towards 
the emancipation of the entire world.' 

9* 



102 UNITED STATES SPEAKER, 

And this, be it remembered, has been the fruit of intellectual 
exertion ! The triumph of mind ! What a proud testimony does 
it bear to the character of our nation, that it is able to make a 
proper estimate of services like these ? That while, in other 
countries, the senseless mob fall down in stupid admiration, be- 
fore the bloody wheels of the conqueror — even of the conqueror 
by accident — in this our people rise, with one accord, to pay 
their homage to intellect and virtue 1 What a cheering pledge 
does it give of the stability of our institutions, that while abroad, 
the yet benighted multitude are prostrating themselves before 
the idols which their own hands have fashioned into kings, here, 
in this land of the free, our people are every where starting up, 
with one impulse, to follow with their acclamations the ascend- 
ing spirits of the great fathers of the republic \ This is a spec- 
tacle of which we may be permitted to be proud. It honors 
our country no less than the illustrious dead. And could these 
great patriots speak to us from the tomb, they would tell us that 
they have more pleasure in the testimony which these honors 
bear to the character of their country, than in that which they 
bear to their individual services. They now see as they were 
seen, while in the body, and know the nature of the feeling 
from which these honors flow. It is love for love. It is the 
gratitude of an enlightened nation to the noblest order of bene- 
factors. It is the only glory worth the aspiration of a generous 
spirit. Who would not prefer this living tomb in the hearts of 
his countrymen, to the proudest mausoleum that the genius of 
sculpture could erect ! 

Jefferson and Adams were great men by nature. Not great 
and eccentric minds " shot madly from their spheres" to affright 
the world and scatter pestilence in their course, but minds whose 
strong and steady lights, restrained within their proper orbits, 
by the happy poise of their characters, came to cheer and glad- 
den a world that had been buried for ages in political night. — 
They were heaven-called avengers of degraded man. They 
came to lift him to the station for which God had formed him, 
and to put to flight those idiot superstitions with which tyrants 
had contrived to inthrall his reason and his liberty. And that 
Being, who had sent them upon this mission, had fitted them, 
pre-eminently, for his glorious work. He filled their hearts 
with a love of country which burned strong within them, even 
in death. He gave them a power of understanding which no 
sophistry could baffle, no art elude ; and a moral heroism which 
no dangers could appall. Careless of themselves, reckless of 
all personal consequences, trampling under foot that petty am- 
bition of office and honor, which constitutes the master-passion 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 103 

of little minds, they bent all their mighty powers to the task for 
which they had been delegated — the freedom of their beloved 
country, and the restoration of fallen man. They felt that they 
were apostles of human liberty ; and well did they fulfill their 
high commission. They rested not till they had accomplished 
their work at home, and given such an impulse to the great 
ocean of mind, that they saw the waves rolling on the farthest 
shore, before they were called to their reward. And then left 
the world, hand in hand, exulting as they rose, in the success 
of their labors. 



70. ADDRESS IN BEHALF OF THE GREEKS. LdCey. 

The calamities of unhappy Greece are not only great, but 
without a parallel. Collect, my brethren, for a moment, the 
powers of your fancy, and fix them on that afflicted country. 
What a sad and revolting spectacle stands before you ! The 
warrior repairs to the field of battle, not like his adversary, in 
" the pride and pomp, and circumstance of glorious war" — but 
in the deep miseries of poverty and consuming care : the matron 
and her lovely daughter are torn from the sanctuary of their 
home, driven into hopeless captivity, or forced into lonely deserts 
to subsist on acorns, and seek a shelter from the storm, in the 
caverns of the earth : the lisping infant, clinging with convul- 
sive grasp to its flying mother, is overtaken by the savage Turk, 
and slaughtered without remorse ; a country once verdant with 
vines, and olives, and generous crops, is blasted by the breath 
of war, and left " without agriculture, without commerce, and 
without arts :" the traces of a desolating foe are marked, not 
only on the site of lamented Scio, on the ramparts of Ipsara, 
Missolonghi, and the Acropolis ; but in every city, and village, 
and hamlet, and portion of this devoted country. The winds 
which sweep along the fields, once blooming with groves, sacred 
to the muses, and over the ruins of temples erected for the arts 
and sciences, bear on their wings the sighs of expiring widows, 
and moans of vanquished heroes, and the beseechings of starv- 
ing infants ! And do you not, in the view of such a picture, 
yield to pity 1 Oh, can there be a heart so hard, as to remain 
unmoved by scenes so sad as these ? No, exclaims the phi- 
lanthropist : all— all I have, is at the service of this afflicted 
country ! 

And will not the scholar respond in the same notes ? I am 
sure he will. There is not a living soul, who ever revelet on 
the creations of inspired fancy, or hung enchanted ujqn Xe 



104 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Strains of oratory, or followed with swelling and delicious ad* 
miration the flowing periods of eloquence, or beheld the magic 
transformation of the chisel, or the enrapturing beauties of the 
pencil, who does not feel himself indebted to unhappy Greece. 
Oh Greece ! Venerated and beloved Greece ! Often have we, 
kneeling at thy shrine, rendered the homage of admiration to thy 
transcendent genius ! It was thy maternal bosom that nourished 
him, whose immortal song has been the wonder of the world ;— - 
him, whose voice shook the throne of Macedon, controlled the 
passions of fierce democracy, and perpetuated to the present 
moment the power and soul of eloquence ; — him who bodied 
forth forms of beauty from the rugged rock, and gave them, as 
it were, sentiment and feeling ; — him whose moral science the 
virtuous still revere : — " For her seat is the bosom of God, and 
her voice the harmony of the world." 

Say, then, ye men of letters — shall Greece be given up ?— - 
Shall the Turk still pollute the soil sanctified by the brightest 
genius ? desecrate the groves, the temples, and the porticoes, 
from which have issued living streams that have often laved and 
refreshed your souls ? extinguish the etherial fire which quick- 
ened the mighty minds of Burke, and Chatham, and Adams, and 
Henry ? Oh, ye who boast of refined and elevated minds, prove 
I beseech you, the reality of your pretensions, by contributing 
to the redemption of a country, from whose brilliant genius you 
have derived your brightest ornaments. 

But the contributions of men of letters will not suffice. I 
would, if possible, render the resources of heaven and earth 
tributary to afflicted Greece. Permit me, then, to address the 
friends oft freedom. 

But for whom do I address them ? For the high-born sons 
of Leonidas, of Themistocles, of Aristides, of Epaminondas ! 

And for what do I address them ? For the emancipation of 
the Greeks. 

Oh, ye friends of liberty ! ye who have been nursed in the 
lap of freedom, and cradled in the storms of emancipation, will 
you not contribute to the release of such a people ? Will you 
look on, without concern, and see the sons of Sparta, of Athens, 
of Thermopylae, crushed beneath the sceptre of the Porte ? Will 
you make no effort for their redemption ? Shall they still bend 
their neck to the cruel yoke for the want of your assistance ? 
Oh, if this be the fact, the time will come, when you will 
repent of your present apathy. When the sighs of expiring 
hope, the clank of chains binding the Greeks to the car of 
tyranny, shall be wafted over the wide wastes of the Atlantic, 
<md sink into your reluctant ears, you will lament, (but, alas' 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 105 

too late,) the inglorious supineness which had led to this 
result. If the cause of Greece be lost, the cause of liberty 
will suffer. In permitting this event, you will descend from 
your high position, and commence a preparation for servitude 
and chains. When the Greek republic shall have ceased its 
struggles, and sunk into the iron grasp of Moslem tyranny, the 
current of civil liberty will not improbably change its course 
and the chill of death, striking to the heart of freedom, com 
mence the dissolution of our own government. 



71. REPLY TO MR. WEBSTER, IN SENATE, 1830. Hayne. 

When I took occasion, Mr. President, two days ago, to throw 
out some ideas with respect to the policy of the government in 
relation to the public lands, nothing certainly could have been 
further from my thoughts, than that I should be compelled again 
to throw myself upon the indulgence of the senate. Little did 
I expect to be called upon to meet such an argument as was 
yesterday urged by the gentleman from Massachusetts. Sir, I 
questioned no man's opinions — I impeached no man's motives 
— 1 charged no party or state, or section of country, with hos- 
tility to any other ; but ventured, I thought, in a becoming spirit 
to put forth my own sentiments in relation to a great question 
of public policy. Such was my course. The gentleman from 
Missouri, it is true, had charged upon the eastern states, an 
early and continued hostility towards the west, and referred to 
a number of historical facts and documents in support of that 
charge. Now, sir, how have these differ ent arguments been 
met ] The honorable gentleman from Massachusetts, after de- 
liberating a whole night upon his course, comes into this cham- 
ber to vindicate New- England ; and instead of making up his 
issue with the gentleman from Missouri, on the charges which 
he had preferred, chooses to consider me as the author of those 
charges, and losing sight entirely of that gentleman, selects me 
as his adversary, and pours out all the vials of his mighty wrath 
upon my devoted head. Nor is he willing to stop there. He 
goes on to assail the institutions and policy of the south, and 
calls in question the principles and conduct of the state which 
I have the honor, in part, to represent. When I find a gentle- 
man of mature age and experience, of acknowledged talents 
and profound sagacity, pursuing a course like this, declining 
the contest offered him from the west, and making war upon 
the unoffending south, I must believe — I am bound to believe 



106 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

he has some object in view that he has not ventured to disclose 
Mr. President, why is this ? Has the gentleman discovered in 
former controversies with the gentleman from Missouri, that he 
is over-matched by that senator 1 And does he hope for an 
easy victory over a more feeble adversary ? Has the gentle- 
man's distempered fancy been disturbed by gloomy forebodings 
of " new alliances to be formed," at which he hinted ? Has 
the ghost of the murdered coalition come back, like the ghost 
of Banquo, to " sear the eyeballs" of the gentleman, and will 
it not " down at his bidding ?" Are dark visions of broken 
hopes and honors lost for ever, still floating before his heated 
imagination ? Sir, if it be his object to thrust me between the 
gentleman from Missouri and himself, in order to rescue the 
east from the contest which it has provoked with the west, he 
shall not be gratified. Sir, I will not be dragged into the de- 
fense of my friend from Missouri ! The south shall not be 
forced into a conflict not its own. The gentleman from Mis- 
souri is able to fight his own battles. The gallant west needs 
no aid from the south, to repel any attack which may be made 
on it from any quarter. Let the gentleman from Massachu- 
setts controvert the facts and arguments of the gentleman from 
Missouri, if he can ; and if he win the victory, let him weai* 
his honors ; I shall not deprive him of his laurels. 



72. REJOINDER TO MR. HAYNE, IN SENATE, 1830. Webster 

The honorable member complained that I had slept on his 
speech. I must have slept on it or not slept at all. The mo- 
ment the honorable member sat down, his friend from Missouri 
rose, and with much honeyed commendation of the speech, 
suggested that the impressions which it had produced were 
too charming and delightful to be disturbed by other sentiments 
or other sounds, and proposed that the senate should adjourn. 
Would it have been quite amiable, in me, sir, to interrupt this 
excellent good feeling 1 Must I not have been absolutely ma- 
licious, if I could have thrust myself forward, to destroy sensa- 
tions thus pleasing ? Was it not much better and kindlier, both 
to sleep upon them myself, and to allow others, also, the plea- 
sure of sleeping upon them ? But if it be meant, by sleeping 
upon his speech, that I took time to prepare a reply to it, it is 
quite a mistake : owing to other engagements, I could not em- 
ploy even the interval, between the adjournment of the senate, 
and its meeting the next morning, in attention to the subje* of 



AMERICAN ELOQUENCE. 107 

his debate. Nevertheless, sir, the mere matter of fact is un- 
doubtedly true — I did sleep on the gentleman's speech ; and 
slept soundly. And I slept equally well on his speech of 
yesterday, to which I am now replying. It is quite possible, 
that in this respect, I possess some advantage over the honor- 
able member : attributable, doubtless, to a cooler temperament, 
on my part : for, in truth, I slept upon his speeches remarkably 
well.- But the gentleman inquires, why he was made the object 
of such a reply ? Why was he singled out ? If an attack had 
been made on the east, he, he assures us, did not begin it — it 
was the gentleman from Missouri. Sir, I answered the gentle- 
man's speech, because I happened to hear it ; and because, also, 
I chose to give an answer to that speech, which, if unanswered, 
I thought most likely to produce injurious impressions. I did 
not stop to inquire who was the original drawer of the bill ; I 
found a responsible indorser before me, and it was my purpose 
to hold him liable, and to bring him to his just responsibility, 
without delay. But, sir, this interrogatory of the honorable 
member was only introductory to another. He proceeded to 
ask me, whether I had turned upon him in this debate, from the 
consciousness that I should find an overmatch, if I ventured on 
a contest with his friend from Missouri. If, sir, the honorable 
member, ex gratia modesti®, had chosen thus to defer to his 
friend, and to pay him a compliment, without intentional dis- 
paragement to others, it would have been quite according to the 
friendly courtesies of debate, and not at all ungrateful to my 
own feelings. I am not one of those, sir, who esteem any 
tribute of regard, whether light and occasional, or more serious 
and deliberate, which may be bestowed on others, as so much 
unjustly withholden from themselves. But the tone and manner 
of the gentleman's question, forbid me that I thus interpret it. 
I am not at liberty to consider it as nothing more than a civility 
to his friend. It had an air of taunt and disparagement, a little 
of the loftiness of asserted superiority, which does not allow 
me to pass it over without notice. It was put as a question foi 
me to answ r er, and so put, as if it were difficult for me to answer, 
whether I deemed the member from Missouri an overmatch foi 
myself, in debate here. It seems to me, sir, that this is extra- 
ordinary language, and an extraordinary tone, for the discus- 
sions of this body. 

Matches and over-matches ! Those terms are more applica- 
ble elsewhere than here, and fitter for other assemblies than 
this. Sir, the gentleman seems to forget where and what we 
are. This is a senate : a senate of equals : of men of indi- 
vidual honor and personal character, and of absolute indepen 



108 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

dence. We know no masters ; we acknowledge no dictators, 
This is a hall for mutual consultation and discussion ; not an 
arena for the exhibition of champions. I offer myself, sir, as 
a match for no man, I throw the challenge of debate at no man's 
feet. But, then, sir, since the honorable member has put the 
question, in a manner that calls for an answer, I will give him 
an answer ; and I tell him, that holding myself to be the hum- 
blest of the members here, I yet know nothing in the arm of 
his friend from Missouri, either alone, or when aided by the 
arm of his friend from South Carolina, that need deter even me 
from espousing whatever opinions I may choose to espouse, 
from debating whenever I may choose to debate, or from speak- 
ing whatever I may see fit to say, on the floor of the senate 
Sir, when uttered as matter of commendation or compliment, I 
should dissent from nothing which the honorable member might 
say of his friend. Still less do I put forth any pretensions of 
my own. But, when put to me as a matter of taunt, I throw 
it back, and say to the gentlemen that he could possibly say 
nothing less likely than such a comparison to wound my pride 
of personal character. The anger of its tone rescued the re- 
mark from intentional irony, which otherwise, probably, would 
have been its general acceptation. But, sir, if it be imagined 
that by this mutual quotation and commendation ; if it be sup- 
posed, that by casting the characters of the drama, assigning 
to each his part ; to one the attack ; to another the cry of onset : 
or, if it be thought that by a loud and empty vaunt of anticipa- 
ted victory, any laurels are to be won here ; if it be imagined, 
especially, that any or all of these things, will shake any purpose 
of mine, I can tell the honorable member, once for all, that he 
is greatly mistaken, and that he is dealing with one of whose 
temper and character he has yet much to learn. Sir, I shall 
not allow myself, on this occasion, to be betrayed into any loss 
of temper ; but if provoked, as I trust I never shall allow 
myself to be, into crimination and recrimination, the honorable 
member may perhaps find, that, in that contest, there will be 
blows to take as well as blows to give ; that others can state 
comparisons as significant, at least as his own, and that his 
impunity may, perhaps, demand of him whatever powers of 
taunt and sarcasm he may possess. I commend him to a pru- 
dent husbandry of his resources. 



SPECIMENS OF EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 



1. description of Junius. — Burke. 

Sir, — How comes this Junius to have broken through the 
cobwebs of the law, and to range uncontrolled, unpunished, 
through the land ? The myrmidons of the court have been 
long, and are still pursuing him in vain. They will not spend 
their time upon me, or you, or you. No ! they disdain such 
vermin, when the mighty boar of the forest, that has broke 
through all their toils, is before them. But what will all their 
efforts avail ? No sooner has he wounded one than he lays 
down another dead at his feet. For my part, when I saw his 
attack upon the king, I own my blood ran cold. I thought he 
had ventured too far, and there was an end of his triumphs. 
Not that he had not asserted many truths : — Y^s, sir, there are 
in that composition many bold truths, by ^nich a wise prince 
might profit. It was the rancor and x^nbm, with which I was 
struck. In these respects the No^n-Briton is as much inferior 
to him, as in strength, wit, an^ judgment. 

But while I expected, ^ this daring flight, his final ruin and 
fall, behold him rising- still higher, and coming down souse upon 
both houses of pailiament. Yes, he did make you his quarry, 
and you still bleed from the wounds of his talons. You crouched, 
and still prouch, beneath his rage. Nor has he dreaded the 
terror^ of your brow, sir ; he has attacked even you — he has — 
Rjid I believe you have no reason to triumph in the encounter. 
In short, after carrying away our royal eagle in his pounces, and 
dashing him against a rock, he has laid you prostrate. King, 
lords, and commons, are but the sport of his fury. 

Were he a member of this house, what might not be expected 
from his knowledge, his firmness, and integrity 1 He would be 
easily known by his contempt of all danger, by his penetration, 
by his vigor. Nothing would escape his vigilance and activity 
Bad ministers could conceal nothing from his sagacity ; nor 
could promises nor threats induce him to conceal any thing 
from the public. 

10. 



110 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 



2. OPINION RELATIVE TO THE RIGHT OF ENGLAND TO TAX 

America. — Burke. 

" But, Mr. Speaker, we have a right to tax America." Oh, 
inestimable right ! Oh, wonderful, transcendent right ! the 
assertion of which has cost this country thirteen provinces, 
six islands, one hundred thousand lives, and seventy millions 
of money. Oh, invaluable right ! for the sake of which we 
have sacrificed our rank among nations, our importance abroad, 
and our happiness at home ! Oh, right ! more dear to us than 
our existence, which has already cost us so much, and which 
seems likely to cost us our all. Infatuated man ! miserable and 
undone country ! not to know that the claim of right, without 
the power of enforcing it, is nugatory and idle. We have a 
right to tax America, the noble lord tells us, therefore we ought 
to tax America. This is the profound logic which comprises 
the whole chain of his reasoning. 

Not inferior to this was the wisdom of him who resolved to 
shear the wolf. What, shear a wolf ! Have you considered 
the resistance, the difficulty, the danger of the attempt 1 No 
says the madman, I have considered nothing but the right. — 
Man has a right of dominion over the beasts of the forest : and 
therefore I will shear the wolf. How wonderful that a nation 
could be thus deluded. But the noble lord deals in cheats and 
delusions. They are ih e daily traffic of his invention ; and he 
will continue to play off Lis cheats on this house, so long as 
he thinks them necessary to hie. purpose, and so long as he has 
money enough at command to bribe gentlemen to pretend that 
they believe him. But a black and bitwr day of reckoning will 
surely come ; and whenever that day comu, I trust I shall be 
able, by a parliamentary impeachment, to bring \ipon the heads 
of the authors of our calamities, the punishment tl*ay deserve. 



3. jack to sir john. — Kotzebue. 

A nobler lad than your honor's son never broke biscuit. On 
our return, as we were steering about two hundred leagues to 
the westward of the Canary Islands, we spied, one morning 
early, something at a distance in the sea, which we were not 
able to fathom. Some short time after, we heard the report of 
two guns, and then saw a piece of sail-cloth flying. " Look," 
cried the captain, " these are certainly signals of distress ;7 and 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. Ill 

indeed so they were ! We took in the top-sails and lay-to till 
the thing approached us. Your honor, I am but a rough fellow, 
but dash my timbers, if my upper bowsprit is not always wet 
with spray-water whenever I think of it ! {weeps.) Twenty- 
three poor wretches in a small rotten boat, who had not a mor- 
sel of biscuit between their teeth for five long days ! It seems 
their ship had taken fire in the middle of the sea, and these 
men had with great difficulty escaped into the boat, and were 
now driving at the mercy of the wind ! another day must haver 
done for them all ! — The captain, a brave Dutchman, had los; 
every thing but his life and honor. He had left a young wife 
and three small children, who were starving ! — Ah ! your honor, 
he pumped clear water from both his eyes, whenever he men- 
tioned them. My brave young master could not bear this : — 
" Comrade," said he, " I have no wife — no child — and I have 
five thousand pounds — Here, do you take the money, and 
heaven bless you with it !" He then put him and all his crew 
ashore at the first harbor we reached. 



4. " A POLITICAL PAUSE." Fox. 

" But we must pause !" says the honorable gentleman. What! 
must the bowels of Great Britain be torn out — her best blood 
be spilt — her treasures wasted — that you may make an experi- 
ment ? Put yourselves, Oh ! that you would put yourselves on 
the field of battle, and learn to judge of the sort of horrors that 
you excite. In former wars a man might, at least, have some 
feeling, some interest, that served to balance in his mind the 
impressions which a scene of carnage and of death must inflict. 

But if a man were present now at a field of slaughter, and 
were to inquire for what they were fighting, — " Fighting !" 
would be the answer; "they are not fighting; they are pausing." 
" Why is that man expiring ? Why is that other writhing with 
agony? What means this implacable fury?" The answer 
must be, — " You are quite wrong, sir, you deceive yourself — 
they are not fighting — do not disturb them — they are merely 
pausing ! This man is not expiring with agony — that man is 
not dead — he is only pausing ! Lord help you, sir ! they are 
not angry with one another : they have now no cause of quarrel ; 
but their country thinks that there should be a pause. All that 
you see, sir, is nothing like fighting — there is no harm, nor 
cruelty, nor bloodshed in it, whatever ; it is nothing more than 
a political pause ! It is merely to try an experiment — to se/» 
whether Bonaparte will not behave himself better than herete 



112 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

fore ; and in the meantime we have agreed to a pause, in pure 
friendship !" 

And is this the way, sir, that you are to show yourselves the 
advocates of order 1 You take up a system calculated to un- 
civilize the world — to destroy order — to trample on religion — 
to stifle in the heart, not merely the generosity of noble senti- 
ment, but the affections of social nature ; and in the prosecution 
of this system, you spread terror and devastation all around 
you. 

5. CHARLES DE MOOR'S REMORSE. Schiller. 

I must rest here. — My joints are shaken asunder. — My 
tongue cleaves to my mouth, it is dry as a potsherd. — I would 
beg of some of you, to fetch me a little water, in the hollow 
of your hand, from yonder brook ; but all of you are weary to 
death. — How glorious, how majestic, yonder setting sun! — 
'Tis thus the hero falls, 'tis thus he dies, — in godlike majesty! — 
When I was a boy, — a, mere child, — It was my favorite thought, 
to live and die like that sun. 'Twas an idle thought, a boy's 
conceit. — There was a time — leave me, my friends, alone ; — 
there was a time, when I could not sleep, if I had forgot my 
prayers ! — Oh that I were a child once more ! — 

What a lovely evening ! what a pleasing landscape ! — That 
scene is noble ! this world is beautiful ! the earth is grand ! — 
But I am hideous in this world of beauty — a monster on this 
magnificent earth — the prodigal son : — My innocence ! Oh my 
innocence ! — All nature expands at the sweet breath of spring: 
but, Oh God, this paradise — this heaven is a hell to me ! — All 
is happiness around me, — all in the sweet spirit of peace ; 
the world is one family, — but its father there above is not my 
father ! — I am an outcast — the prodigal son ! the companion of 
murderers, of viperous fiends ! bound down enchained to guilt 
and horror ! — Oh ! that I could return once more to peace and 
innocence ! that I hung an infant on the breast! that I were 
born a beggar — the meanest kind — a peasant of the field ! I 
would toil, till the sweat of blood dropt from my brow, to pur- 
chase the luxury of one sound sleep, the rapture of a single 
tear ! — There was a time when I could weep with ease. Oh 
days of bliss ! Oh mansion of my fathers ! Scenes of my 
infant years, enjoyed by fond enthusiasm ! will you no more 
return? No more exhale your sweets to cool this burning 
bosom ? Oh ! never, never shall they return ! No more re- 
fresh this bosom with the breath of peace. They are gone ] 
gone for ever! 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 113 



6. THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. KnOwUs. 

A gentleman, Mr. President, speaking of Caesar's benevolent 
disposition, and of tile reluctance with which he entered into 
the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink 
of the Rubicon !" How came he to the brink of that river ! 
How dared he cross it ! Shall private men respect the bounda- 
ries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to 
the boundaries of his country's rights ? How dared he cross 
that river ! Oh ! but he paused upon the brink ! He should 
have perished upon the brink ere he had crossed it ! Why did 
he pause ? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on 
the point of committing an unlawful deed ! Why does the "very 
murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye, 
taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? 
Because of conscience ! 'Twas that made Caesar pause upon 
the brink of the Rubicon. Compassion ! What compassion ! 
The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, 
as his weapon begins to cut ! Caesar paused upon the brink 
of the Rubicon ! What was the Rubicon 1 The boundary of 
Caesar's province. From what did it separate his province ? 
From his country. Was that country a desert ? No : it was 
cultivated and fertile ; rich and populous ! Its sons were men 
of genius, spirit, and generosity ! Its daughters were lovely, 
susceptible, and chaste ! Friendship was its inhabitant ! Love 
was its inhabitant! Domestic affection was its inhabitant! 
Liberty was its inhabitant ! All bounded by the stream of the 
Rubicon ! What was Caesar, that stood upon the bank of that 
stream ? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart 
of that country! No wonder that he paused — no wonder if, his 
imagination wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld 
61ood instead of water ; and heard groans, instead of murmurs ! 
No wonder, if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone 
apon the spot ! But, no ! — he cried, " The die is cast !" He 
plunged ! — he crossed ! — and Rome was free no more ? 



7. TO THE YOUNG. Logan. 

Now is your golden age. When the morning of life rejoices 
over your head, every thing around you puts on a smiling 
appearance. All nature wears a face of beauty, and is animated 
with, a spirit of joy : you walk up and down in a new world ; 

10* 



114 tTNiTED STATES SPEAKER. 

you crop the unblown flower, and drink the untasted spring. 
Full of spirit, and high in hope, you set out on the journey of 
life : visions of bliss present themselves to view : dreams of 
joy, with sweet delusion, amuse the vacant mind. You listen, 
and accord to the song of hope, " To-morrow shall be as this 
day, and much more abundant." But, ah ! my young friendsj 
the flattering scene will not last. The spell is quickly broken, 
and the enchantment soon over. How hideous will life appear, 
when experience takes off the mask, and discovers the sad 
reality ! Now thou hast no weariness to clog thy waking 
hoars, and no care to disturb thy repose. But know, child of 
the earth, that thou art born to trouble ; and that care, through 
every subsequent path of life, will haunt thee like a ghost. 
Health now sparkles in thine eye, the blood flows pure in thy 
veins, and thy spirits are gay as the morning : but, alas ! the 
time will come, when diseases, a numerous and direful train, 
will assail thy life ; the time will come, when, pale and ghastly, 
and stretched on a bed, chastened with pain, and the multitude 
of thy bones with strong pain, thou wilt be ready to choose 
strangling and death, rather than life." 

You are now happy in your earthly companions. Friend- 
ship, which in the world is a feeble sentiment, with you is a 
strong passion. But shift the scene for a few years, and behold 
the man of thy right-hand, become unto thee as an alien. Be- 
hold the friend of thy youth, who was one with thine own 
soul, striving to supplant thee, and laying snares for thy ruin ! 
I mention not these things, my young friends, to make you 
miserable before the time. God forbid, that I should anticipate 
the evil day, unless I could arm you against it. Now, remem- 
ber your Creator, consecrate to him the early period of your 
days, and the light of his countenance will shine upon you 
through life. Amid all the changes of this fluctuating scene, 
you have a friend that never fails. Then, let the tempests 
beat, and the floods descend, you are safe and happy, under 
the shelter of the rock of ages. 



8. CONTEMPLATION OF THE DIVINE BEING IN HIS WORKS.- 

Fielding. 

What time can suffice for the contemplation and worship of 
that glorious, immortal, and eternal Being ; among the works 
of whose stupendous creation, not only this globe, but even those 
numberless luminaries, which we may here behold spangling 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 115 

all the sky, though they should be suns lighting different sys- 
tems of worlds, may possibly appear but as a few atoms, op- 
posed to the whole earth which we inhabit ? Can a man, who 
by divine meditations is admitted, as it were, into the conver- 
sation of this ineffable, incomprehensible Majesty, think days, 
or years, or ages, too long for the continuance of so ravishing 
an honor 1 Shall the trifling amusements, the palling pleasures, 
the silly business of the world, roll away our hours too swiftly 
from us : and, shall the space of time seem sluggish, to a mind 
exercised in studies so high, so important, and so glorious ? 
As no time is sufficient, so no place is improper for this great 
concern. On what object can we cast our eyes, which may 
not inspire us with ideas of his power, of his wisdom, and of 
his goodness ? It is not necessary that the rising sun should 
dart his fiery glories' over the eastern horizon ; nor that the 
boisterous winds should rush from their caverns and shake the 
lofty forest ; nor that the opening clouds should pour their 
deluges on the plains ; it is not necessary, I say, that any of 
these should proclaim his Majesty ; there is not an insect, not 
a vegetable of so low an order in the creation, as not to be 
honored with bearing marks of the attributes of its great Crea- 
tor ; marks, not only of his power, but of his wisdom and 
goodness. Man alone, the king of this globe, and last and 
greatest work of the supreme Being, below the sun ; man alone, 
hath basely dishonored his own nature ; and by dishonesty, 
cruelty, ingratitude, and treachery, hath called his Maker's 
goodness in question, by puzzling us to a'ccount how a benevo- 
lent Being should form so foolish and so vile an animal. And 
yet this is the being who stands pre-eminently the debtor of his 
great Creator. True it is that philosophy makes us wiser, 
but Christianity makes us better men ; philosophy elevates, 
and steels the mind, Christianity softens and sweetens it. The 
former makes us the object of human admiration, the latter of 
divine love. That insures us a temporal, but this an eternal 
happiness. 



9. cesar's triumphs. — Knowles. 

To form a just estimate of Caesar's aims, Mr. President, look 
to his triumphs after the surrender of Utica — Utica, more hon- 
ored in being the grave of Cato, than Rome in having been the 
cradle of Caesar ! 

You will read, sir, that Caesar triumphed four times. First, 
for his victory over the Gauls ; secondly, over Egypt ; thirdly; 



116 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

over Pharnaces ; lastly, over Juba, the friend of Cato. His 
first, second, and third triumphs were, we are told, magnificent 
Before him marched the princes and noble foreigners of the 
countries he had conquered ; his soldiers, crowned with laurels, 
followed him ; and the whole city attended with acclamations. 
This was well ! — the conqueror should be honored. His fourth 
triumph approaches — as magnificent as the former ones. It 
does not want its royal captives, its soldiers crowned with lau- 
rels, or its flushed conqueror, to grace it ; nor is it less honored 
by the multitude of its spectators — but they send up no shout of 
exultation ; they heave loud sighs ; their cheeks are frequently 
wiped; their eyes are fixed upon one object, that engrosses all 
their senses — their thoughts — their affections — it is the statue 
of Cato ! — carried before the victor's chariot ! It represents 
him rending open his wound, and tearing out his bowels ; as he 
did in Utica, when Roman liberty was no more ! Now, ask if 
Caesar's aim was the welfare of his country ! — Now, doubt if 
he was a man governed by a selfish ambition ! Now, question 
whether he usurped, for the mere sake of usurping ! He is not 
content to triumph over the Gauls, the Egyptians, and Phar- 
naces ; he must triumph over his own countrymen ! He is not 
content to cause the statue of Scipio and Petrius to be carried 
before him ; he must be graced by that of Cato ! He is not 
content with the simple effigy of Cato ; he must exhibit that of 
his suicide ! He is not satisfied to insult the Romans with tri- 
umphing over the death of liberty ; they must gaze upon the 
representation of her expiring agonies, and mark the writhings 
of her last — fatal struggle ! ^ 



10. LAS-CASAS DISSUADING FROM BATTLE. Sheridan. 

Is then the dreadful measure of your cruelty not yet com- 
plete ? Battle ! gracious Heaven ! Against whom ? — Against 
a king, in whose mild bosom your atrocious injuries, even yet, 
have not excited hate ! but who, insulted or victorious, still 
sues for peace. Against a people, who never wronged the 
living being their Creator formed ; a people, who, children of 
innocence ! received you as cherished guests, with eager hos- 
pitality and confiding kindness. Generously and freely did 
they share with you, their comforts, their treasures, and their 
homes : you repaid them by fraud, oppression, and dishonor. 
These eyes have witnessed all I speak ; — as gods you were 
received — as fiends you have acted. 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. Il7 

Pizarro, hear me ! — Hear me, chieftains ! — And thou, All- 
powerful ! whose thunder can shiver into sand the adamantine 
rock, — whose lightnings can pierce to the core of the riven and 
quaking earth, — Oh ! let thy power give effect to thy servant's 
words, as thy spirit gives courage to his will ! Do not, I im- 
plore you, chieftains, — countrymen — Do not, I implore you, 
renew the foul barbarities, your insatiate avarice has inflicted, 
on this wretched, unoffending race ! — But hush, my sighs ! — 
fall not, ye drops of useless sorrow ! — heart-breaking anguish, 
choke not my utterance. — All I entreat is, send me once more 
to those you call your enemies. Oh ! let me be the messenger 
of penitence from you, I shall return with blessings and peace 
from them. Elvira, you weep ! — Alas ! does this dreadful 
crisis move no heart but thine ? — Time flies — words are una- 
vailing — the chieftains declare for instant battle ! 

Oh God ! thou hast anointed me thy servant — not to curse, 
but to bless my countrymen : yet now my blessing on their 
force, were blasphemy against thy goodness. No ! I curse 
your purpose, homicides ! I curse the bond of blood, by which 
you are united. — May fell division, infamy, and rout, defeat 
your projects, and rebuke your hopes ! — On you, and on your 
children, be the peril of the innocent blood, which shall be 
shed this day ! I leave you, and for ever ! No longer shall 
these aged eyes be seared by the horrors they have witnessed. 
In caves — in forests, will I hide myself ; with tigers and with 
savage beasts, will I commune ; and when at length we meet 
again, before the blessed tribunal of that Deity whose mild 
doctrines, and whose mercies ye have this day renounced, then 
shall you feel the agony and grief of soul which now tear the 
bosom of your weak accuser ! — 



11. INVECTIVE AGAINST THE DUKE OF BEDFORD. JuUXUS. 

Let us consider you, then, my lord, as arrived at the summit 
of worldly greatness : let us suppose that all your plans of ava- 
rice and ambition are accomplished, and your most sanguine 
wishes gratified, in the fear as well as the hatred of the people ; 
can age itself forget that you are in the last act of life ? Can 
grey hairs make folly venerable ? and is not their period to be 
reserved for meditation and retirement ? For shame ! my lord, 
let it not be recorded of you, that the last moments of your life 
were dedicated to the same unworthy pursuits, the same busy 
agitations, in which your youth and manhood were exhausted 



118 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Consider, that, although you cannot disgrace your former life, 
you are violating the character of age, and exposing the impo- 
tent imbecility after you have lost the vigor of the passions. 

Your friends will ask, perhaps, where shall this unhappy old 
man retire ? Can he remain in the metropolis, where his life 
has been so often threatened, and his palace so often attacked? 
If he returns to Woburn, scorn and mockery await him. He 
must create a solitude round his estate, if he would avoid the 
face of reproach and derision. At Plymouth, his destruction 
would be more than probable ; at Exeter, inevitable. No honest 
Englishman will ever forget his attachment, nor any honest 
Scotchman forgive his treachery, to lord Bute. At every town 
he enters, he must change his liveries and name. Whichever 
way he flies, the hue and cry of the country pursues him. In 
another kingdom, indeed, the blessings of his administration 
have been more sensibly felt ; his virtues better understood ; 
or, at worst, they will not for him alone forget their hospitality. 
As well might Verres have returned to Sicily. You have twice 
escaped, my lord ; beware of a third experiment. The indig- 
nation of a whole people, plundered, insulted, and oppressed as 
they have been, will not always be disappointed. 

It is vain therefore to shift the scene. You can no more fly 
from your enemies than from yourself. Persecuted abroad, you 
look into your own heart for consolation, and find nothing but 
reproaches and despair. But, my lord, you may quit the field 
of business, though not the field of danger ; and though you 
cannot be safe, you may cease to be ridiculous. 



12. ludicrous account of English taxes. — Ed. Review. 

Permit me to inform you, my friends, what are the inevitable 
consequences of being too fond of glory ; — Taxes — upon every 
article which enters into the mouth, or covers the back, or is 
placed under the foot — taxes upon everything which it is plea- 
sant to see, hear, feel, smell, or taste — taxes upon warmth, light, 
and locomotion — taxes on every thing on earth, and the waters 
under the earth — on every thing that comes from abroad, or is 
grown at home — taxes on the raw material — taxes on every 
fresh value that is added to it by the industry of man — taxes on 
the sauce which pampers man's appetite, and the drug that re- 
stores him to health — on the ermine which decorates the judge, 
and the rope which hangs the criminal — on the poor man's salt, 
and the rich man's spice — on the brass nails of the coffin, and 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 119 

the ribands of the bride — at bed or board, couchant or levant, 
we must pay. 

The schoolboy whips his taxed top — the beardless youth 
manages his taxed horse, with a taxed bridle on a taxed road ; 
— and the dying Englishman, pouring his medicine which has 
paid seven per cent, into a spoon that has paid fifteen per cent. — 
flings himself back upon his chintz bed which has paid twenty- 
two per cent. — makes his will on an eight pound stamp, and 
expires in the arms of an apothecary, who has paid a license 
of an hundred pounds for the privilege of putting him to death. 
His whole property is then immediately taxed from two to ten 
per cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded for 
burying him in the chancel ; his virtues are handed down to 
posterity on taxed marble ; and he is then gathered to his 
fathers, — to be taxed no more. 

In addition to all this, the habit of dealing Avith large sums 
will make the government avaricious and profuse ; and the sys- 
tem itself will infallibly generate the base vermin of spies and 
informers, and a still more pestilent race of political tools and 
retainers, of the meanest and most odious description ; — while 
the prodigious patronage, which the collecting of this splendid 
revenue will throw into the hands of government, will invest it 
with so vast an influence, and hold out such means and tempta- 
tions to corruption, as all the virtue and public spirit, even of 
republicans, will be unable to resist. 



13. WASHINGTON. Phillips. 

Sir, — It matters very little what immediate spot may be the 
birthplace of such a man as Washington. No people can claim, 
no country can appropriate him ; the boon of Providence to the 
human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. 
Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our 
policy, I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. 
If the heavens thundered and the earth rocked, yet, when the 
storm passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared ; how 
bright in the brow of the firmament was the planet which it 
revealed to us ! In the production of Washington, it does 
really appear as if nature was endeavoring to improve upon 
herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so 
many studies preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual 
instances no doubt there were ; splendid exemplifications of 
some single qualification. Caesar was merciful, Scipio was 



120 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

continent, Hannibal was patient ; but it was reserved for 
Washington to blend them all in one, and like the lovely chef- 
d'oeuvre of the Grecian artist, to exhibit in one glow of associ- 
ated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of 
every master. As a general, he marshaled the peasant into a 
veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experience; 
as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the 
most comprehensive system of general advantage ; and such 
was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his coun- 
sels, that to the soldier and the statesman he almost added the 
character of the sage ! A conqueror, he was untainted with 
the crime of blood ; a revolutionist, he was free from any stain 
of treason; for aggression commenced the contest, and his 
country called him to the command. Liberty unsheathed his 
sword, necessity stained, victory returned it. If he had paused 
here, history might have doubted what station to assign him, 
whether at the head of her citizens, or her soldiers — her heroes, 
or her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns his career, 
and banishes all hesitation. Who, like Washington, after 
having emancipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown and pre- 
ferred the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land 
he might be almost said to have created 1 

' c How shall we rank thee upon glory's page, 
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage? 
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, 
Far less than all thou hast forborne to be." 



14. female patriotism. — Madame Roland. 

Minds which have any claim to greatness are capable of di- 
vesting themselves of selfish considerations ; they feel that they 
belong to the whole human race ; and their views are directed 
to posterity alone. I was the friend of men who have been 
proscribed and immolated by delusion, and the hatred of jealous 
mediocrity. It is necessary that I should perish in my turn f 
becaus-e it is a rule with tyranny to sacrifice those whom it has 
grievously oppressed, and to annihilate the very witnesses of its 
misdeeds. I have this double claim to death from your hands?, 
and I expect it. When innocence walks to the scaffold, at the 
command of error and perversity, every step she takes is an 
advance tOAvards glory. May I he the last victim sacrificed to 
the furious spirit of party ! I shall quit with joy this unfortunate 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 121 

earth which swallows up the friends of virtue, and drinks the 
blood of the just. 

Truth ! friendship ! my country ! sacred objects, sentiments 
dear to my heart, accept my last sacrifice. My life was devoted 
to you, and you will render my death easy and glorious. 

Just heaven ! enlighten this unfortunate people for whom I 

desired liberty. Liberty ! — It is for noble minds. It is not 

for weak beings who enter into a composition with guilt, and 
cover selfishness and cowardice with the name of prudence. It 
is not for corrupt wretches, who rise from the bed of debauchery, 
or from the mire of indigence, to feast their eyes on the blood 
that streams from the scaffold. It is the portion of a people who 
delight in humanity, practice justice, despise their flatterers, 
and respect the truth. While you are not such a people, Oh my 
fellow-citizens ! you will talk in vain of liberty : instead of lib- 
erty you will have licentiousness, of which you will all fall 
victims in your turns ; you will ask for bread, and dead bodies 
will be given you ; and you will at last bow down your necks 
to the yoke. 

I have neither concealed my sentiments nor my opinions. I 
know that a Roman lady was sent to the scaffold for lamenting 
the death of her son. I know that in times of delusion and 
party rage, he who dares avow himself the friend of the pro- 
scribed, exposes himself to their fate. But I despise death ; I 
never feared any thing but guilt, and I will not purchase life at 
the expense of a base subterfuge. Wo to the times ! wo to the 
people among whom doing homage to disregarded truth can be 
attended with danger ; and happy he who in such circumstances 
is bold enough to brave it ! 



15. ENTERPRISING SPIRIT OF NEW-ENGLAND. Burke. 

As to the wealth, Mr. Speaker, which the colonies have drawn 
from the sea by their fisheries, you had all that matter fully opened 
at your bar. You surely thought those acquisitions of value ; 
for they seemed even to excite your envy ; and yet the spirit 
by which that enterprising employment has been exercised, 
ought rather, in my opinion, to have raised your esteem and 
admiration. And pray, sir, what in the world is equal to it ?-*■ 
Pass by the other parts and look at the manner in which the 
people of New-England have of late carried on the whale 
fishery. 

Whilst we follow them amongst the tumbling mountains of 

H 



122 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

ice and behold them penetrating into the deepest irozen recesses 
of Hudson's Bay, and Davis' Straits, whilst we are looking for 
them beneath the arctic circle, we hear that they have pierced 
into the opposite region of polar cold, that they are at the an- 
tipodes, and engaged under the frozen serpent of the south. 
Falkland Island, which seemed too remote and romantic an ob- 
ject for the grasp of national ambition, is but a stage and resting 
place in the progress of their victorious industry. 

Nor is the equinoctial heat more discouraging to them, than 
the accumulated winter of both the poles. We know that while 
some of them draw the line and strike the harpoon on the coast 
of Africa, others run the longitude and pursue their gigantic 
game along the coasts of Brazil. No sea but what is vexed by 
their fisheries. No climate that is not witness to their toils. 
Neither the perseverance of Holland, nor the activity of France, 
nor the dexterous and firm sagacity of English enterprise, ever 
carried this most perilous mode of hardy industry to the extent 
to which it has been pushed by this recent people ; a people 
who are still, as it were, but in the gristle, and not yet hardened 
into the bone of manhood. 

When I contemplate these things ; when I know that the 
colonies in general, owe little or nothing to any care of ours, 
and that they are not squeezed into this happy form by the 
constraints of a watchful and suspicious government, but that 
through a wise and salutary neglect, a generous nature has 
been suffered to take her own way to perfection ; when I re- 
flect upon these effects, when I see how profitable they have 
been to us, I feel all the pride of power sink, and all presump- 
tion in the wisdom of human contrivances melt, and die away 
within me. My rigor relents. I pardon something to the spirit 
of liberty. 



16. LOVE OF COUNTRY. MintO. 

Gentlemen, — We have but one question to resolve — shall we 
defend our country, or resign it ? 

And first, I ask — What is that country ? — what is this golden 
prize for which we are to contend ? — a country, rich in all the 
blessings that are derived from a free and equal government ; — - 
a government which seems to have grown and matured itself 
by the continued exercise of wisdom in the lawgivers, and 
virtue in the people, through a long series of ages ; which has 
been sanctioned by the applause, and even by the acknowledged 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 123 

envy of the whole world ; but the excellence of which is yet 
better proved by the unceasing progress of the people in every 
species of prosperity and happiness ; — a government which 
knows no distinction amongst us in the protection of the laws , 
which enables every man of every degree, alike to acquire the 
fair fruits of honesty, industry, of useful talents, of genius, and 
even of fortune ; and, when acquired, secures alike to all the 
firm possession of their own ; a government which, thus per- 
fect in theory, has been administered through the whole at 
least of our generation, by the most virtuous, the most just, the 
most benevolent man in the nation. Such is the sovereign 
whom we are summoned to renounce : such the government 
which we are commanded, by an insolent stranger, to exchange 
for his foreign yoke. 

Let me ask once again, what is that country we would de- 
fend ? It is that in which we have all drawn our first breath ; 
which has reared us kindly to strength and manhood, which 
has been our mother and our tender nurse ; it is that in which 
the ashes of our fathers are deposited ; it has been our cradle, 
and it is the hallowed tomb of our ancestors. It is that in 
which we have contracted the most sacred engagements, the 
dearest relations of human life ; here we have found the com- 
panions of our childhood, the friends of our youth, the gentle 
partners of our lives ; here our memory points at every turn to 
some haunt of infancy, to the scene of some endearing hour, of 
some treasured recollection in maturer age ; in fine, to some 
resistless motive of love and filial duty To sum up all in one 
word, it is our country ! our dear native land ! That monster 
never breathed, so far distorted from the forms of nature, whose 
bosom has not acknowledged that strongest instinct, that most 
universal passion, that most rational and virtuous affection of 
all those which God has implanted in the breasts of his crea- 
tures — the love of his country. 



17. FUTURE PUNISHMENT. LamOTlt. 

Future punishment is, of all evils, the most dreadful j and, 
therefore, of all evils, the most to be avoided. The calamities 
which mortals inherit, in their earthly tabernacle, are slight 
and transitory — soon fly off, and die for ever. But those woes 
which fester in the souls of bad men after death, are at once 
intolerable and interminable. Their exauisite acuteness cay 



124 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

only be equaled by their endless duration. At that awful 
period, when these woes commence, the sons of vice must take 
up their abode in the dismal habitations of darkness and despair ; 
in which reside only demons, and the spirits of malevolent 
men ! They must make their bed in hell ; a dreadful bed in- 
deed ! where rest comes neither day nor night, where the voice 
of gladness is never heard, where peace and joy can never 
enter ; " but the smoke of their torments ascendeth for ever 
and ever ;" where the soul is ever forced upwards, by the de- 
sire of happiness ; but is ever pressed downwards by the weight 
of iniquity ; whilst this melancholy reflection ever prays upon 
the heart — all the treasures of celestial felicity might have been 
mine, had not my own obstinate wickedness barred against me 
the gates of heaven. There the worm of conscience never 
dies, and the fire of appetite is never quenched. There the 
tears of grief are never banished from the eye, nor the heav- 
ings of sorrow from the heart. There the understanding, like 
a condemned criminal, is shut up in a dark dungeon, to brood 
for ever on its own calamity. There the passions burn with 
unquenchable desire, and are perpetually racked with despair 
of enjoyment. There the memory serves as a cruel engine, to 
rake up the ashes of guilty deeds, to overwhelm the soul in an 
abyss of sorrow — whilst remorse, like a gnawing vulture, feeds 
upon the soul. There are wounds without balm, pains without 
ease, distress without relief, afflictions without pity, sufferings 
without limit, and anxiety without interval. 

All this might yet be borne, did ever hope, that sweet cordial 
of calamity, break through the sullen gloom, and, with the fair 
prospects of deliverance, cheer the wretched sufferer. But, 
alas ! alas ! there even hope, the last refuge of unhappy minds, 
is for ever excluded ; and nothing presents itself, but the gloom 
of despair, and the blackness of darkness for ever and ever. 
Just God ! how wretched is the situation of thy creatures, when 
they desert thee, the fountain of life ; violate the laws of thy 
government, and wilfully pursue their own destruction ! 



18. IMPOSSIBILITY OF CONQUERING AMERICA. Chatham 

It has been usual, on similar occasions of difficulty and dis- 
tress, for the crown to make application to this house, the great 
hereditary council of the nation, for advice and assistance. As 
it is the right of parliament to give, so it is the duty of the 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 126 

crown to ask it. But on this day, and in this extremely mo- 
mentous exigency, no reliance is reposed on your councils — 
no advice is asked of parliament ; but the crown from itself, 
and by itself, declares an unalterable determination to pursue 
its own preconcerted measures ; and what measures, my 
lords ? Measures which have produced hitherto nothing but 
disappointments and defeats. I cannot, my lords, I will not 
join in congratulation on misfortune and disgrace. This, my 
lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment : it is not a time 
for adulation ; the smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this 
rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the 
throne in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel 
the darkness and delusion which envelop it ; and display, in 
its full danger and genuine colors, the ruin which is brought to 
our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect support in 
their infatuation ! Can parliament be so dead to its dignity 
and duty as to give their support to measures thus obtruded 
and forced upon them 1 Measures, my lords, which have re- 
duced this great and flourishing empire to scorn and contempt. 
But yesterday, " and England might have stood against the 
world. — Now, none so poor to do her reverence." The people 
whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom w^e now ac- 
knowledge as enemies, are abetted against you, supplied with 
every military store, their interest consulted, and their ambas- 
sadors entertained by your inveterate enemy ; and our ministers 
do not and dare not interpose with dignity and effect. The 
desperate state of our army abroad is in part known. No 
man more highly esteems and honors the English troops than 
I do : I know their virtues and their valor : I know they can 
achieve any thing except impossibilities : and I know that the 
conquest of English- America is an impossibility. You cannot, 
my lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present 
situation there ? We do not know the worst, but we know 
that in three campaigns we have done nothing and suffered 
much. You may swell every expense, and strain every effort, 
accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffick to the 
shambles of every German despot ; your attempts for ever will 
be vain and impotent ; doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary 
aid on which you rely ; for it irritates to an incurable resent- 
ment the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the 
mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their 
possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an 
American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop re- 
mained in my country, I never would lay down my arms — 
never, never, never. 

11* 



128 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



19. oratorical action.— Fordyce. 

It will not, I think, be pretended, that any of our public 
speakers have often occasion to address more sagacious, learned, 
or polite assemblies, than those which were composed of the 
Roman senate, or the Athenian people, in their most enlight* 
ened times. But it is well known what great stress the most 
celebrated orators of those times laid on action ; how exceed- 
ingly imperfect they reckoned eloquence without it, and what 
wonders they performed with its assistance ; performed upon 
the greatest, firmest, most sensible, and most elegant spirits the 
world ever saw. It were easy to throw together a number of 
commonplace quotations, in support, or illustration of this, and 
almost every other remark that can be made upon the present 
subject. But as that would lead me beyond the intention of 
this address, I need only mention here one simple fact, which 
every body has heard of; that whereas Demosthenes himself 
did not succeed in his first attempts, through his having ne- 
glected to study action, he afterwards arrived at such a pitch 
in that faculty, that when the people of Rhodes expressed in 
high terms their admiration of his famous oration for Ctesiphon, 
upon hearing it read with a very sweet and strong voice by 
iEschines, whose banishment it had procured, that great and 
candid judge said to them, " How would you have been affected, 
had you seen him speak it. For he that only hears Demos- 
thenes, loses much the better part of the oration." — What an 
honorable testimony this from a vanquished adversary, and such 
an adversary ! What a noble idea doth it give of that wonderful 
orator's action ! I grasp it with ardor ; I transport myself in 
imagination to old Athens. I mingle with the popular assembly, 
I behold the lightning, I listen to the thunder of Demosthenes. 
I feel my blood thrilled, I see the auditory lost and shaken, like 
some deep forest by a mighty storm. I am filled with wonder 
at such marvellous effects. I am hurried almost out of myself. 
In a little while, I endeavor to be more collected. Then I con- 
sider the orator's address. I find the whole inexpressible. But 
nothing strikes me more than his action. I perceive the va- 
rious passions he would inspire, rising in him by turns, and 
working from the depth of his frame. Now he glows with the 
love of the public ; no.w he flames with indignation at its ene 
mies ; then he swells with disdain, of its false, indolent, or in- 
terested friends, anon he melts with grief for its misfortunes ; 
and now he turns pale with fear of yet greater ones. Every 
feature, nerve, and circumstance about him is intensely ani- 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 127 

mated ; each almost seems as if it would speak. I discern his 
inmost soul, I see it as only clad in some thin transparent 
vehicle. It is all on fire. I wonder no longer at the effects 
of such eloquence. I only wonder at their cause. 



20. APPEAL TO THE JURY IN DEFENSE OF ROWAN. CuTTan. 

I cannot, however, avoid adverting to a circumstance that 
distinguishes the case of Mr. Rowan from that of the late sacri- 
fice in a neighboring kingdom. 

The severer law of that country, it seems, and happy for 
them that it should, enables them to remove from their sight the 
victim of their infatuation. The more merciful spirit of our law 
deprives you of that consolation ; his sufferings must remain 
for ever before our eyes, a continual call upon your shame and 
your remorse. But those sufferings will do more ; they will not 
rest satisfied with your unavailing contrition, they will challenge 
the great and paramount inquest of society : the man will be 
weighed against the charge, the witness, and the sentence ; 
and impartial justice will demand, why has an Irish jury done 
this deed ? The moment he ceases to be regarded as a crim- 
inal, he becomes of necessity an accuser : and let me ask you, 
what can your most zealous defenders be prepared to answer to 
such a charge 1 When your sentence shall have sent him forth 
to that stage, which guilt alone can render infamous, let me tell 
you, he will not be like a little statue upon a mighty pedestal, 
diminishing by elevation, but he will stand a striking and im- 
posing object upon a monument, which, if it does not (and it 
cannot) record the atrocity of his crime, must record the atro- 
city of his conviction. Upon this subject, therefore, credit me 
when I say that I am still more anxious for you, than I can 
possibly be for him. I cannot but feel the peculiarity of your 
situation. Not the jury of his own choice, which the law of 
England allows, but which ours refuses ; collected in that box 
by a person, certainly no friend to Mr. Rowan, certainly not very 
deeply interested in giving him a very impartial jury. Feeling 
this, as I am persuaded you do, you cannot be surprised, how- 
ever you may be distressed, at the mournful presage, with which 
an anxious public is led to fear the worst from your possible 
determination. But I will not for the justice and honor of our 
common country, suffer my mind to be borne away by such 
melancholy anticipation. I will not relinquish the confidence 
that this day will be the period of his sufferings ; and however 



128 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

mercilessly he has been hitherto pursued, that your verdict will 
send him home to the arms of his family, and the wishes of his 
country. But if, which heaven forbid, it hath still been unfor- 
tunately determined, that because he has not bent to power and 
authority, because he would not bow down before the golden 
calf and worship it, he is to be bound and cast into the furnace ; 
I do trust in God, that there is a redeeming spirit in the consti- 
tution, which will be seen to walk with the sufferer through the 
flames, and preserve him unhurt by the conflagration. 



21. MEN OF STERLING INTEGRITY ONLY FIT FOR OFFICE — 

Knowles. 

Were your country, Mr. President, in a state of anarchy- 
were it distracted by the struggles of rival parties, drawn out, 
every now and then, in arms against one another — and were you, 
sir, to attempt a reformation of manners, what qualifications 
would you require in the men whom you would associate with 
you in such an undertaking ? What would content you ? — 
Talent ? — No ! Enterprise ? — No ! Courage ? — No ! Reputa- 
tion ?— -No ! Virtue ?— No ! The men whom you would select, 
should possess, not one, but all of these — nor, yet, should that 
content you. They must be proved men — tested men — men 
that had, again and again, passed through the ordeal of human 
temptation— without a scar — without a blemish — without a 
speck ! You would not select the public firebrand — you would 
not seek your seconds in the tavern or in the brothel — you 
would not inquire out the man who was oppressed with debts, 
contracted by licentiousness, debauchery, every species of 
profligacy ! Who, sir, I ask, were Caesar's seconds in his un- 
dertaking ? Crebonius Curio, one of the most vicious and de- 
bauched young men in Rome — a creature of Pompey's, bought 
off by the illustrious Caesar ! Marcus Antonius, a creature of 
that creature's — a young man, so addicted to every kind of dis- 
sipation, that he had been driven from th£ paternal roof — the 
friend and coadjutor of that Clodius who violated the mysteries 
of the Bona Dea — and drove into exile the man that had been 
called the father of his country ! Paulus iEmilius — a patrician, 
a consul — a friend of Pompey's — bought off by the great Caesar 
with a bribe of fifteen hundred talents ! Such, sir, were the 
abettors of Caesar. What, then, what was Caesar's object ? Do 
we select extortioners to enforce the laws of equity ? Do we 
make choice ojf profligates to guard the morals of society ? Do 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 129 

we depute atheists, to preside over the rites of religion ? What, 
I say, was Caesar's object ? I will not press the answer — I 
need not press the answer — the premises of rny argument render 
it unnecessary — the achievement of great objects does not 
belong to the vile — or of virtuous ones, to the vicious — or of 
religious ones, to the profane. Caesar did not associate such 
characters with him for the good of his country. His object 
was, the gratification of his own ambition — the attainment of 
supreme power ; no matter by what means accomplished — no 
matter by what consequences attended. He aspired to be the 
highest — above the people ! — above the authorities — above the 
laws ! above his country ! — and, in that seat of eminence, he 
was content to sit, though, from the centre to the far horizon of 
his power, his eyes could contemplate nothing but the ruin and 
desolation by which he had reached to it ! 



22. CHARACTER OF AN INFORMER. Curran. 

Gentlemen of the Jury, — The learned gentleman is pleased 
to say, that the traverser has charged the government with the 
encouragement of informers. This, gentlemen, is another small 
fact that you are to deny at the hazard of your souls, and upon 
the solemnity of your oaths. You are, upon your oaths, to say 
to the sister country, that the government of Ireland uses no 
such abominable instruments of destruction as informers. — Let 
me ask you, honestly, — what do you feel, when in my hearing, 
when in the face of this audience, you are called upon to give 
a verdict that every man of us, aye, and every man of you, 
knows by the testimony of your own eyes, to be utterly and 
absolutely false ? 

I speak not now of the public employment of informers, with 
a promise of secrecy and of extravagant reward ; I speak not of 
the fate of those horrid wretches who have been so often trans 
ferred from the table to the dock, and from the dock to the pil- 
lory ; I speak of what your own eyes have seen, day after day, 
during the course of this commission, from the box where you 
are now sitting; I speak of the horrid miscreants who have 
avowed, upon their oaths, that they had come from the very 
seat of government — from the castle, where they had been 
worked upon by the fear of death, and the hopes of compensa- 
tion, to give evidence against their fellows. I speak of the 
mild and wholesome councils of this government, holden over 
these catacombs of living death, where the wretch that is buried 



130 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

a man, lies till his. heart has time to fester and dissolve, arid is 
then dug up — a witness. 

Is this fancy, or is it fact ? Have you not seen him, after 
his resurrection from that tomb, after having been dug out of 
the region of death and corruption, make his appearance upon 
the table, the living image of life and of death, and the supreme 
arbiter of both 1 Have you not marked, when he entered, how 
the multitude retired at his approach ? Have you not marked 
how the human heart bowed to the supremacy of his power, in 
the undissembled homage of deferential horror ? How his 
glance, like the lightning of heaven, seemed to rive the body of 
the accused, and mark it for the grave, while his voice warned 
the devoted wretch of wo and death ; a death which no inno- 
cence can escape, no art elude, no force resist, no antidote 
prevent ; — there was an antidote — a juror's oath — but even thai 
adamantine chain, that bound the integrity of man to the throne 
of eternal justice, is solved and melted in the breath that issues 
from the informer's mouth ; conscience swings from her moor- 
ings, and the appalled and affrighted juror consults his own 
safety in the surrender of the victim. 



23. character of filial piety. — Sheridan. 

The counsel, my lords, in recommending an attention to the 
public in preference to the private letters, remarked particularly, 
that one of the latter should not be taken in evidence, because 
it was evidently and abstractedly private, relating the anxieties 
of Mr. Middleton on account of the illness of his son. This 
is a singular argument indeed. The circumstance, however, 
undoubtedly merits strict observation, though not in the view 
in which it was placed by the counsel. It goes to show that 
some, at least, of the persons concerned in these transactions, 
felt the force of those ties which their efforts were directed to 
tear asunder ; that those who could ridicule the respective 
attachment of a mother and a son ; who could prohibit the rev- 
erence of the son to the mother ; who could deny to maternal 
debility the protection which filial tenderness should afford, 
were yet sensible of the straining of those cords by which they 
are connected. There is something in the present business, 
with all that is horrible to create aversion, so vilely lothesome 
as to excite disgust. It is, my lords, surely superfluous to 
dwell on the sacredness of those ties which those aliens to 
feeling, those apostates to humanity, thus divided. In such an 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 131 

assembly, as the one before which I speak, there is not an eye 
but must look reproof to this conduct, not a heart but must an- 
ticipate its condemnation. Filial piety ! It is the primal bond 
of society. It is that instinctive principle, which, panting for 
its proper good, soothes, unbidden, each sense and sensibility 
of man. It now quivers on every lip. It now beams from 
every eye. It is that gratitude which, softening under the sense 
of recollected good, is eager to own the vast, countless debt, 
it never, alas ! can pay, for so many long years of unceasing 
solicitudes, honorable self-denials, life -pre serving cares. It is 
that part of our practice, where duty drops its awe, where rev- 
erence refines into love. It asks no aid of memory. It needs 
not the deductions of reason. Pre-existing, paramount over all, 
whether moral law or human rule, few arguments can increase 
and none can diminish it. It is the sacrament of our nature ; 
not only the duty, but the indulgence of man. It is his first 
great privilege. It is among his last, most endearing delights, 
when the bosom glows with the idea of reverberated love ; 
when to requite on the visitations of nature, and return the 
blessings that have been received, what was emotion, is fixed 
into vital principle ; what was instinct, is habituated into a mas- 
ter-passion, sways all the sweetest energies of man ; hangs 
over each vicissitude of all that must pass away ; aids the 
melancholy virtues in their last sad task of life ; cheers the 
languor of decrepitude and age ; explores the thought ; explains 
the aching eye ! 



24. DEFENSE OF J. A. WILLIAMS, FOR A LIBEL ON THE CLERGY 

of Durham. — Brougham. 

It is necessary for me to set before you the picture my learned 
friend was pleased to draw of the clergy of the diocese of Dur- 
ham, and I shall recall it to your minds almost in his own words. 
According to him, they stand in a peculiarly unfortunate situa- 
tion ; they are, in truth, the most injured of men. 

They all, it seems, entertained the same generous sentiments 
with the rest of their countrymen, though they did not express 
them in the old, free English manner, by openly condemning 
the proceedings against the late queen ; and after the course of 
unexampled injustice, against which she victoriously struggled, 
had been followed by the needless infliction of inhuman torture, 
*jo undennine a frame whose spirit no open hostility could daunt, 
2nd extinguish the life so long imbittered by the same foul arts 



132 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

i — after that great princess had ceased to harass her enemies**— 
after her glorious but unhappy life had closed, and that princely- 
head was at last laid low by death, which, living, all oppression 
had only the more illustriously exalted — the venerable the clergy 
of Durham, I am now told for the first time, though less forward 
in giving vent to their feelings than the rest of their fellow- 
citizens — though not so vehement in their indignation at the 
matchless and unmanly persecution of the queen — though not 
so unbridled in their joy at her immortal triumph, nor so loud 
in their lamentations over her mournful and untimely end — did, 
nevertheless, in reality, all the while, deeply sympathize with 
her sufferings, in the bottom of their reverend hearts ! 

When all the resources of the most ingenious cruelty hurried 
her to a fate without parallel — if not so clamorous, they did not 
feel the least of all the members of the community — their grief 
was in truth too deep for utterance — sorrow clung round their 
bosoms — weighed upon their tongues, stifled every sound — and, 
when all the rest of mankind, of all sects and of all nations, 
freely gave vent to the feelings of our common nature, their 
silence, the contrast w T hich they displayed to the rest of their 
species, proceeded from the greater depth of their affliction ; 
they said the less, because they felt the more ! 

Oh ! talk of hypocrisy after this ! Most consummate of all 
hypocrites ! After instructing your chosen official advocate to 
stand forward with such a defense — such an exposition of your 
motives — to dare utter the word hypocrisy, and complain of 
those who charged you with it ! This is indeed to insult com- 
mon sense, and outrage the feelings of the whole human race ! 
If you were hypocrites before, you were downright, frank, 
honest hypocrites, to what you have now made yourselves — and 
surely, for all you have ever done or even been charged with, 
your worst enemies must be satiated with the humiliation of 
this day, its just atonement, and ample retribution ! 



25. Osmond's dream. — Lewis. 

Hark, fellows — Instruments of my guilt, listen to my punish- 
ment ! — Methought I wandered tlirough the lowbrowed caverns 
where repose the reliques of my ancestors ! — my eye dwelt 
with awe on their tombs ; with disgust, on mortality's surround- 
ing emblems ! — Suddenly a female form glided along the vault ; 
it was Angela ! — She smiled upon me, and beckoned me to 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 133 

advance. I flew towards her ; my arms were already unclosed 
to clasp her, when suddenly her figure changed, her face grew 
pale, a stream of blood gushed from her bosom! — Hassan, 
'twas Evelina ! Such as when she sank at my feet expiring, 
while my hand grasped the dagger, still crimsoned with her 
blood ! — " We meet again this night !" murmured her hollow 
voice ! " Now rush to my arms, but first see what you have 
made me ! — Embrace me, my bridegroom ! we must never part 
again !" — While speaking, her form withered away : the flesh 
fell from her bones ; her eyes burst from their sockets ; a 
skeleton, lothesome and meagre, clasped me in her moldering 
arms ! — Her infected breath was mingled with mine ; her rot- 
ting fingers pressed my hand, and my face was covered with 
her kisses ! — Oh, how I trembled with disgust ! — And now 
blue dismal flames gleamed along the walls ; the tombs were 
rent asimder ; bands of fierce spectres rushed round me in 
frantic dance ! — Furiously they gnashed their teeth, while they 
gazed upon me, and shrieked in loud yell — " Welcome thou 
fratricide ! — Welcome thou lost for ever !" — Horror burst the 
bands of sleep ; distracted I flew hither : but my feelings — 
words are too weak, too powerless to express them. — Surely 
this was no idle dream ! — 'Twas a celestial warning ; 'twas 
my better angel that whispered, " Osmond, repent your former 
crimes ! — commit not new ones !" 

Angela ! — Oh ! at that name, all again is calm in my bosom. 
Hushed by her image, my tumultuous passions sink to rest ; 
and my terrors subside into that single fear, her loss ! — My 
heart-strings are twisted round the maid, and ere I resign her, 
those strings must break. If I exist to-morrow night, she shall 
be mine. If I exist 1 — Ha ! whence that doubt ? " We meet 
again this night !" — so said the spectre ! — Dreadful words, be 
ye blotted from my mind for ever ! — Hassan, to your vigilance, 
I leave the care of my beloved. Fly to me that instant should 
any unbidden footstep approach your chamber-door. I'll to my 
couch again. Follow me, Saib, and watch me while I sleep. 
Then, if you see my limbs convulsed, my teeth clenched, my 
hair bristling, and cold dews trembling on my brow ! Seize me, 
rouse me ! Snatch me from my bed ! — I must not dream again 
— Oh ! faithless sleep, why art thou too leagued with my foes ? 
There was a time, when thy presence brought oblivion to my 
sorrows ; when thy poppy crown was mingled with roses ! — 
Now, fear and remorse are thy sad companions, and I shudder 
to see thee approach my couch! Blood trickles from thy 
garments : snakes writhe around thy brows ; thy hand holds 
the well-known fatal dagger, and plunges it still reeking in mv 

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134 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

breast ! — then do I shriek in agony ; then do I start distracted 
from thy arms ! Oh ! how I hate thee, sleep ! Friend of virtue, 
Oh ! how I dread thy coming ! — 



26. REFLECTIONS ON THE YOUTH AND THEATRICAL MANNER 

of mr. pitt. — Walpole. 

Sir, — I was unwilling to interrupt the course of this debate, 
while it was carried on with calmness and decency, by men 
who do not suffer the ardor of opposition to cloud their reason, 
or transport them to such expressions as the dignity of this 
assembly does not admit. I have hitherto deferred to answer 
the gentleman who declaimed against the bill, with such fluency 
of rhetoric, and such vehemence of gesture ; who charged the 
advocates of the expedients now proposed, with having no 
regard to any interests but their own, and with making laws 
only to consume paper, and threatened them with the defection 
of their adherents, and the loss of their influence, upon this new 
discovery of their folly, and their ignorance. Nor, sir, do 1 
now answer him for any other purpose than to remind him how 
little the clamors of rage, and petulancy of invectives, contribute 
to the purposes for which this assembly is called together ; — 
how little the discovery of truth is promoted, and the security 
of the nation established, by pompous diction and theatrical 
emotions. Formidable sounds, and furious declamations, con- 
fident assertions, and lofty periods, may affect the young and 
inexperienced ; and perhaps the gentleman may have contracted 
his habits of oratory, by conversing more with those of his own 
age, than with such as have had more opportunities of acquiring 
knowledge, and more successful methods of communicating 
their sentiments. If the heat of his temper, sir, would suffer 
him to attend to those whose age, and long acquaintance with 
business, give them an indisputable right to deference and su- 
periority, he would learn, in time, to reason rather than declaim ; 
to prefer justness of argument, and an accurate knowledge of 
facts, to sounding epithets and splendid superlatives, which may 
disturb the imagination for a moment, but leave no lasting im- 
pression on the mind. He will learn, sir, that to accuse and 
prove are very different, and that reproaches unsupported by 
evidence, affect only the character of him that utters them. 
Excursions of fancy and flights of oratory, are indeed pardon- 
able in young men, but in no other ; and it would surely con- 
tribute more, even to the purpose for which some gentlemen 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 135 

appear to speak, (that of depreciating the conduct of the admin- 
istration,) to prove the inconveniences and injustice of this bill, 
than barely to assert them, with whatever magnificence of lan- 
guage, or appearance of zeal, honesty, or compassion. 



27. REPLY TO THE ILL-TIMED REFLECTIONS OF MR. WALPOLB 

Pitt. 

Sir, — The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the 
honorable gentleman has, with such spirit and decency charged 
upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny ; but con- 
tent myself with wishing- — that I may be one of those whose 
follies cease with their youth ; and not of that number who are 
ignorant in spite of experience. 

Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I 
will not, sir, assume the province of determining — but surely, 
age may become justly contemptible — if the opportunities which 
it brings have passed away without improvement, and vice ap- 
pears to prevail when the passions have subsided. The wretch 
who, after having seen the consequences of a thousand errors, 
continues still to blunder, and whose age has only added ob- 
stinacy to stupidity, is surely the object of either abhorrence or 
contempt ; and deserves not that his grey hairs should secure 
him from insult. Much more, sir, is he to be abhorred — who, 
as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and be- 
comes more wicked with less temptation : who prostitutes him- 
self for money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains 
of his life in the ruin of his country. 

But youth, sir, is not my only crime. I have been accused 
of acting a theatrical part. 

A theatrical part may either imply — some peculiarities of 
gesture,— or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and the 
adoption of the opinions and language of another man. 

In the first sense, the charge is too trifling to be confuted ; 
and deserves only to be mentioned that it may be despised. I 
am at liberty, like every other man, to use my own language ; 
and though I may, perhaps, have some ambition, — yet to please 
this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, nor 
very solicitously copy his diction, or his mien ; however ma- 
tured by age, or modeled by experience. If any man shall, by 
charging me with theatrical behavior, imply that I utter any 
sentiments but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator and 
a villain ; nor shall any protection shelter him from the treat 



136 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

merit he deserves. I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple 
trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity 
intrench themselves ; nor shall any thing but age restrain my 
resentment ; — age, which always brings one privilege, that of 
being insolent and supercilious without punishment. But with 
regard, sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of opinion, 
that if I had acted a borrowed part I should have avoided their 
censure ; the heat that offended them is the ardor of conviction, 
and that zeal for the service of my country, which neither hope 
nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit uncon- 
cerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon 
public robbery. I will exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard, 
to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, — whoever 
may protect them in their villany, and whoever may partake of 
their plunder. 



28. BENEVOLENCE OF THE SUPREME BEING. Chalmers, 

It is saying much for the benevolence of God, to say, that a 
single world, or a single system, is not enough for it — that it 
must have the spread of a mightier region, on which it may 
pour forth a tide of exuberancy throughout all its provinces — 
that, as far as our vision can carry us, it has strewed immensity 
with the floating receptacles of life, and has stretched over each 
of them the garniture of such a sky as mantles our own habita- 
tion — and that, even from distances which are far beyond the 
reach of human eye, the songs of gratitude and praise may 
now be arising to the one God, who sits surrounded by the 
regards of his one great and universal family. 

Now, it is saying much for the benevolence of God, to say 
that it sends forth these wide and distant emanations over the 
surface of a territory so ample — that the world we inhabit, lying 
imbedded as it does, amidst so much surrounding greatness, 
shrinks into a point that to the universal eye might appear to 
be almost imperceptible. But does it not add to the power and 
to the perfection of this universal eye, that at the very moment 
it is taking a comprehensive survey of the vast, it can fasten a 
steady and undistracted attention on each minute and separate 
portion of it ; that at the very moment it is looking at all worlds, 
it can look most pointedly and most intelligently to ea«h of 
them; that at the very moment it sweeps the field of immensity, 
it can settle all the earnestness of its regards upon every dis- 
tinct hand-breadth of that field ; that at the very moment at 



EUROPEAN ILOQUENcti 137 

which it embraces the totality of existence, it can send a most 
thorough and penetrating inspection into each of its details, 
and into every one of its endless diversities ? You cannot fail 
to perceive how much this adds to the power of the all-seeing 
eye. Tell me, then, if it do not add as much perfection to 
the benevolence of God, that while it is expatiating over the 
vast field of created things, there is not one portion of the 
field overlooked by it ; that while it scatters blessings over the 
whole of an infinite range, it causes them to descend in a 
shower of plenty on every separate habitation ; that while his 
arm is underneath and round about all worlds ■, he enters within 
the precincts of every one of them, and gives a care and a 
tenderness to each individual of their teeming population. Oh ! 
does not the God, who is said to be love, shed over this attri- 
bute of his its finest illustration ! when, while he sits in the 
highest heaven, and pours out his fulness on the whole subordi- 
nate domain of nature and of providence, he bows a pitying 
regard on the very humblest of his children, and sends his 
reviving spirit into every heart, and cheers by his presence 
every home, and provides for the wants of every family, and 
watches every sick bed, and listens to the complaints of every 
sufferer ; and while, by his w^ondrous mind, the weight of uni- 
versal government is borne, oh ! is it not more wondrous and 
more excellent still, that he feels for every sorrow, and has an 
ear open to every prayer ! 



29. address to the army of italy. — Bonaparte. 

Soldiers, — You are precipitated like a torrent from the heights 
of the Appenines ; you have overthrown and dispersed all that 
dared to oppose your march. Piedmont, rescued from Austrian 
tyranny, is left to its natural sentiments of regard and friendship 
to the French. Milan is yours ; and the republican standard is 
displayed throughout all Lombardy. The dukes of Parma and 
Modena are indebted for their political existence only to youi 
generosity. 

The army which so proudly menaced you, has had no other 
barrier than its dissolution to oppose to your invincible courage 
The Po, the Tessen, the Adda, could not retard you a single 
day. The vaunted bulwarks of Italy w^ere insufficient. You 
swept them with the same rapidity that you did the iVppenines. 
Those successes have carried joy into the bosom of your coun- 
try. Your representatives decreed a festival dedicated to your 

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138 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

victories, and to be celebrated throughout all the communes of 
the republic. Now your fathers, your mothers, your wives, and 
your sisters, will rejoice in your success, and take pride in their 
relation to you. 

Yes, soldiers, you have done much ; but more still remains 
for you to do. Shall it be said of us, that we know how tc 
conquer, but not to profit by our victories 1 Shall posterity 
reproach us with having found a Capua in Lombardy 1 But 
already I see you fly to arms. You are fatigued with an inac- 
tive repose. — You lament the days that are lost to your glory! 
Well, then, let us proceed ; we have other forced marches to 
make, other enemies to subdue ; more laurels to acquire, and 
more injuries to avenge. 

Let those who have unsheathed the daggers of civil war in 
France ; who have basely assassinated our ministers ; who have 
burnt our ships at Toulon ; let them tremble ; the knell of ven- 
geance has already tolled ! 

But to quiet the apprehensions of the people, we declare our- 
selves the friends of all, and particularly of those who are the 
descendants of Brutus, of Scipio, and those other great men 
whom we have taken for our models. 

To re-establish the capital ; to replace the statues of those 
heroes who have rendered it immortal ; to rouse the Roman 
people entranced in so many ages of slavery ; this shall be the 
fruit of your victories. It will be an epoch for the admiration 
of posterity ; you will enjoy the immortal glory of changing the 
aspect of affairs in the finest part of Europe. The free people 
of France, not regardless of moderation, shall accord to Europe 
a glorious peace ; but it will indemnify itself for the sacrifices 
of every kind which it has been making for six years past. 
You will again be restored to your firesides and homes ; and 
your fellow-citizens, pointing you out, shall say, " There goes 
one who belonged to the army of Italy !" 



30. THE SCRIPTURES AND THE SAVIOR. RoUSSeaU. 

The majesty of the Scriptures strikes me with astonishment, 
and the sanctity of the gospel addresses itself to my heart. 
Look at the volumes of the philosophers, with all their pomp : 
how contemptible do they appear in comparison to this ! Is it 
possible, that a book at once so simple and sublime, can be the 
work of man ? Can he who is the subject of its history, be 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 139 

himself a mere man ? Was his the tone of an enthusiast, or 
of an ambitious sectary ? What sweetness ! What purity in 
his manners ! What an affecting gracefulness in his instruc- 
tions ! What sublimity in his maxims ! What profound wisdom 
in his discourses ! What presence of mind, what sagacity and 
propriety in his answers ! How great the command over his 
passions ! Where is the man, where the philosopher, who 
could so live, suffer, and die, without weakness and without 
ostentation ! When Plato described his imaginary good man, 
covered with all the disgrace of crime, yet worthy of all the 
rewards of virtue, he described exactly the character of Jesus 
Christ. The resemblance was so striking, it could not be mis- 
taken, and all the fathers of the church perceived it. What pre- 
possession, what blindness must it be to compare the son of 
Sophronius, to the son of Mary ! What an immeasurable dis- 
tance between them ! Socrates, dying without pam, and without 
ignominy, easily supported his character to the last ; and if his 
death, however easy, had not crowned his life, it might have 
been doubted whether Socrates, with all his wisdom, was any 
thing more than a mere sophist. He invented, it is said, the 
theory of moral science. Others, however, had before him put 
it in practice ; and he had nothing to do but to tell what they 
had done, and to reduce their examples to precept. Aristides 
had been just, before Socrates defined what justice was ; Le- 
onidas had died for his country, before Socrates made it a duty 
to love one's country. Sparta had been temperate before Soc- 
rates eulogized sobriety : and before he celebrated the praises 
of virtue, Greece had abounded in virtuous men. But from 
whom of all his countrymen, could Jesus have derived that 
sublime and pure morality, of which he only has given us both 
the precepts and example ? In the midst of the most licentious 
fanaticism, the voice of the sublimest wisdom w r as heard ; and 
the simplicity of the most heroic virtue crowned one of the 
humblest of all the multitude. 

The death of Socrates, peaceably philosophising with his 
friends, is the most pleasant that could be desired ! That of 
Jesus, expiring in torments, outraged, reviled, and execrated 
by a whole nation, is the most horrible that could be feared. 
Socrates, m receiving the cup of poison, blessed the weeping 
executioner who presented it ; but Jesus in the midst of excru- 
ciating torture, prayed for his merciless tormentors. Yes ! if 
the life and death of Socrates were those of a sage, the life 
and death of Jesus were those of a God. Shall we say that 
the evangelical history is a mere fiction — it does not bear the 
stamp of fiction, but the contrary. The history of Socrates 



140 tJNiTED STATES SPEAKER. 

which nobody doubts, is not as well attested as that of JesuS 
Christ. Such an assertion in fact only shifts- the difficulty, 
without removing it. It is more inconceivable that a number 
of persons should have agreed to fabricate this book, than that 
one only should have furnished the subject of it. 

The Jewish authors were incapable of the diction, and 
strangers to the morality, contained in the gospel, the marks 
of whose truth are so striking, so perfectly inimitable, that the 
inventor would be a more astonishing man than the hero. 



31. political cupidity reproved.- — Sheridan. 

In such an hour as this, at a moment pregnant with the 
national fate, can it be, that people of high rank, and professing 
high principleSjthat they or their families should seek to thrive 
on the spoils of misery, and fatten on the meals wrested from 
industrious poverty ? Can it be, that this should be the case 
with the very persons who state the unprecedented peril of the 
country as the sole cause of their being found in the ministerial 
tanks ? 

The constitution is in danger, religion is in danger, the very 
existence of the nation itself is endangered ; all personal and 
party considerations ought to vanish ; the war must be supported 
by every possible exertion, and by every possible sacrifice ; the 
people must not murmur at their burdens ; it is for their salva- 
tion ; their all is at stake. The time is come when all honest 
and disinterested men should rally round the throne as a stand 
ard :— for what, ye honest and disinterested men 1 to receive 
for your own private emolument a portion of those very taxes 
which you yourselves wring from the people, on the pretence 
of saving them from the poverty and distress which you say 
the enemy would inflict, but which you take care that no enemy 
shall be able to aggravate. 

Oh ! shame ! shame ! is this a time for selfish intrigues, and 
the little dirty traffick for lucre and emolument 1 Does it suit 
the honor of a gentleman to ask at such a moment ? Does it 
become the honesty of a minister to grant ? Is it intended to 
confirm the pernicious doctrine, so industriously propagated by 
many, that all public men are impostors, and that every politician 
has his price 1 Or, even where there is no principle in the 
bosom, why does not prudence hint to the mercenary and the 
vain, to abstain awhile at least, and wait the fitting of the times ? 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 141 

Improvident impatience ! Nay, even from those who seem to 
have no direct object of office or profit, what is the language 
which their actions speak ? 

The throne is in danger ! we will support the throne ; but let 
us share the smiles of royalty — the order of nobility is in dan- 
gei ! I will fight for nobility, says the viscount, but my zeal 
would be much greater if I were made an earl. Rouse all the 
marquis within me ! exclaims the earl, and the peerage never 
turned forth a more undaunted champion in its cause than I shall 
prove. Stain my green riband blue, cries out the illustrious 
knight, and the fountain of honor will have a fast and faithful 
servant ! 

What are the people to think of our sincerity 1 What credit 
are they to give to our professions ? Is this a system to be per- 
severed in ? Is there nothing that whispers to that right hon- 
orable gentleman, that the crisis is too big, that the times are 
too gigantic, to be ruled by the little hackneyed and e very-day 
means of ordinary corruption ! — or are we to believe, that he 
has within himself a conscious feeling, that disqualifies him 
from rebuking the ill-timed selfishness of his new allies 1 



32. ON THE COMPETENCY OF PARLIAMENT TO PASS THE 

measure of union. — Plunket. 

Sir, — I, in the most express terms, deny the competency of 
parliament to do this act. I warn you, do not dare to lay your 
hand on the constitution — I tell you that if, circumstanced as 
you are, you pass this act, it will be a nullity, and that no man in 
Ireland will be bound to obey it. I make the assertion delib- 
erately — I repeat it, and I call on any man who hears me, to 
take down my words ; — you have not been elected for this 
purpose — you are appointed to make laws and not legislatmes 
— you are appointed to act under the constitution, not to alter 
it — you are appointed to exercise the functions of legislators, 
and not to transfer them — and if you do so, your act is a disso- 
lution of the government — you resolve society into its original 
elements, and no man in the land is bound to obey you. 

Yourselves you may extinguish, but parliament you cannot 
extinguish — it is enthroned in the hearts of the people — it is 
enshrined in the sanctuary of the constitution — it is immortal 
as the island which it protects — as well might the frantic sui- 
cide hope that the act which. destroys his miserable body should 



142 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

extinguish his eternal soul. Again, I therefore warn you, do not 
dare to lay your hands on the constitution ; it is above your 
power. Sir, I do not say that the parliament and the people, 
by mutual consent and co-operation, may not change the form 
of the constitution. 

But thank God, the people have manifested no such wish— 
o far as they have spoken, their voice is decidedly against this 
daring innovation. You know that no voice has been uttered 
in its favor, and you cannot be infatuated enough to take confi- 
dence from the silence which prevails in some parts of the 
kingdom ; if you know how to appreciate that silence it is more 
formidable than the most clamorous opposition — you may be 
rived and shivered by the lightning before you hear the peal 
of the thunder ! But, sir, we are told we should discuss this 
question with calmness and composure. I am called on to 
surrender my birthright and my honor, and I am told I should 
be calm, composed. 

National pride ! Independence of our country ! These, we 
are told by the minister, are only vulgar topics fitted for the 
meridian of the mob, but unworthy to be mentioned in such an 
enlightened assembly as this ; they are trinkets and gewgaws 
fit to catch the fancy of childish and unthinking people like 
you, sir, or like your predecessor in that chair, but utterly un 
worthy of the consideration of this house, or of the matured 
understanding of the noble lord who condescends to instruct it! 
Gracious God ! we see a Perry re-ascending from the tomb and 
raising his awful voice to warn us against the surrender of out 
freedom, and we see that the proud and virtuous feelings which 
warmed the breast of that aged and venerable man, are only 
calculated to excite the contempt of this young philosopher, 
who has been transplanted from the nursery to the cabinet, to 
outrage the feelings and understanding of the country. 



33. the philosophy of hatred. — Canning. 

My honorable friend has expended abundant research and 
subtility upon this inquiry, and having resolved the phrase into 
its elements, in the crucible of his philosophical mind, has pro- 
duced it to us purified and refined, to a degree that must com- 
mand the admiration of all who take delight in metaphysical 
alchemy. My honorable and learned friend began by telling 
us, that, after all, hatred is no bad thing in itself. " I hate a 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 143 

tory," says my honorable friend — " and another man hates a 
cat ; but it does not follow that he would hunt down the cat, or 
I the tory." Nay, so far from it — hatred, if it be properly man- 
aged, is, according to my honorable friend's theory, no bad pre- 
face to a rational esteem and affection. It prepares its vota- 
ries for a reconciliation of differences — for lying down with 
their most inveterate enemies, like the leopard and the kid, in 
the vision of the prophet. This dogma is a little startling, but 
it is not altogether without precedent. It is borrowed from a 
character in a play which is, I dare say, as great a favorite 
with my learned friend as it is with me : I mean, the comedy 
of The Rivals ; in which Mrs. Malaprop, giving a lecture on 
the subject of marriage to her niece, (who is unreasonable 
enough to talk of liking, as a necessary preliminary to such an 
union,) says, " What have you to do with your likings and 
your preferences, child ? Depend upon it, it is safest to begin 
with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle 
like a blackamoor, before we were married ; and yet you know, 
my dear, what a good wife I made him." Such is my learned 
friend's argument to a hair. But finding that this doctrine did 
not appear to go down with the house so glibly as he had 
expected, mv honorable and learned friend presently changed 
his tack ; and put forward a theory, which, whether for novelty 
or for beauty, I pronounce to be incomparable ; and, in short, 
as wanting nothing to recommend it but a slight foundation in 
truth. " True philosophy," says my honorable friend, " will 
always continue to lead men to virtue by the instrumentality 
of their conflicting vices. The virtues, where more than one 
exist, may live harmoniously together ; but the vices bear mor- 
tal antipathy to one another, and therefore furnish, to the moral 
engineer, the power by which he can make each keep the other 
under control." Admirable ! but, upon this doctrine, the poor 
man who has but one single vice must be in a very bad way. 
No fulcrum, no moral power for effecting his cure. Whereas 
his more fortunate neighbor, who has two or more vices in his 
composition, is in a fair way of becoming a very virtuous mem- 
ber of society. I wonder how my learned friend would like to 
have this doctrine introduced into his domestic establishment. 
For instance, suppose that I discharge a servant because he is 
addicted to liquor, I could not venture to recommend him to my 
honorable and learned friend. It might be the poor man's only 
fault, and therefore clearly incorrigible ; but if I had the good 
fortune to find out that he was also addicted to stealing, might 
I not, with a safe conscience, send him to my learned friend 
with a strong recommendation, saying, I send you a man whom 



144 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

1 know to be a drunkard ; but I am happy to assure you, he is 
also a thief; you cannot do better than employ him ; you will 
make his drunkenness counteract his thievery, and no doubt 
you will bring him out of the conflict a very moral personage 1 



34. ADDRESS TO THE VOLUNTEERS AT BRISTOL. Hall. 

To form an adequate idea of the duties of this crisis, it will 
be necessary to raise your minds to a level with your station, to 
extend your views to a distant futurity, and to consequences 
the most certain though most remote. By a series of criminal 
enterprises, by the successes of guilty ambition, the liberties 
of Europe have been gradually extinguished ; the subjugation 
of Holland, Switzerland, and the free towns of Germany, has 
completed that catastrophe ; and we are the only people in the 
eastern hemisphere, who are in possession of equal laws and 
a free constitution. Freedom, driven from every spot on the 
continent, has sought an asylum in a country which she always 
chose for her favorite abode : but she is pursued even here, and 
threatened with destruction. The inundation of lawless power, 
after covering the whole earth, threatens to follow us here ; and 
we are most exactly, most critically placed in the only aperture 
where it can be successfully repelled, — in the Thermopylae of 
the universe ! 

Go then, ye defenders of your country, accompanied with 
every auspicious omen ; advance with alacrity into the field, 
where God himself musters the hosts of war. Religion is too 
much interested in your success, not to lend you her aid ; she 
will shed over your enterprise her selectest influence. While 
you are engaged in the field, many will repair to the closet, 
many to the sanctuary ; the faithful, of every name, will employ 
that prayer which has power with God ; the feeble hands, which 
are unequal to any other weapon, will grasp the sword of the 
Spirit ; and from myriads of humble, contrite hearts, the voice 
of intercession, supplication, and weeping, will mingle, in its 
ascent to heaven, with the shouts of battle and the shock of 
arms. My brethren, I cannot but imagine the virtuous heroes, 
legislators, and patriots, of every age and country, are bending 
from their elevated seats to witness this contest, incapable, till 
it be brought to a favorable issue, of enjoving their eternal 
repose. Enjoy that repose, illustrious immortals ! Your mantle 
fell when you ascended ; and thousands, inilamed with ypur 
spirit, and impatient to tread in your steps, are ready to swear 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 145 

by Him that sitteth upon the throne, and liveth for ever and 
ever, that they will protect freedom in her last asylum, and 
never desert that cause which you sustained by your labors, 
and cemented with your blood. 

And thou, sole Ruler among the children of men, to whom 
the shields of the earth belong, gird on thy SAvord, thou Most 
Mighty : go forth with our hosts in the day of battle ! Impart, 
in addition to their hereditary valor, that confidence of success 
which springs from thy presence ! Pour into their hearts the 
spirit of departed heroes ! Inspire them with thine own ; and, 
while led by thine hand, and fighting under thy banners, open 
thou their eyes to behold in every valley, and in every plain, 
what the prophets beheld by the same illumination — chariots 
of fire, and horses of fire ! Then shall the strong man be as 
tow, and the maker of it as a spark ; and they shall both burn 
together, and none shall quench them. 



35. the splendor of war. — Chalmers. 

The first great obstacle to the extinction of war, is, the way 
in which the heart of man is carried off from its barbarities 
and its horrors, by the splendor of its deceitful accompaniments. 
There is a feeling of the sublime in contemplating the shock 
of armies, just as there is in contemplating the devouring energy 
of a tempest ; and this so elevates and engrosses the whole 
man, that his eye is blind to the tears of bereaved parents, and 
his ear is deaf to the piteous moan of tie dying, and the shriek 
of their desolated families. 

There is a gracefulness in the picture of a youthful warrior 
burning for distinction on the £eld, and lured by this generous 
aspiration to the deepest of the animated throng, where, in the 
fell work of death, the opposing sons of valor struggle for a 
remembrance and a name ; and this side of the picture is so 
much the exclusive object of our regard, as to disguise from 
our view the mangled carcasses of the fallen, and the writhing 
agonies of the hundreds and the hundreds more who have been 
laid on the cold ground, and left to languish and to die. 

There no eye pities them. No sister is there to weep over 
them. There no gentle hand is present to ease the dying pos- 
ture, or bind up the wounds, which, in the maddening fury of 
the combat, had been given and received by the children of 
one common father. There death spreads its pale ensigns over 
every countenance, and when night comes on, and darkness 

13 



146 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

gatheis around them, how many a despairing wretch must take 
up with the bloody field as the untented bed of his last suffer- 
ings, without one friend to bear the message of tendernes to his 
distant home, without one companion to close his eyes. 

I avow it. On every side of me I see causes at work, which 
go to spread a most delusive coloring over war, to remove its 
shocking barbarities to the background of our contemplations 
altogether. I see it in the history which tells me of the superb 
appearance of the troops, and the brilliancy of their successive 
charges. I see it in the poetry which lends the magic of its 
numbers to the narrative of blood, and transports its many ad- 
mirers, as, by its images, and its figures, and its nodding plumes 
of chivalry, it throws its treacherous embellishments over a 
scene of legalized slaughter. 

I see it in the music Avhich represents the progress of the 
battle ; and where, after being inspired by the trumpet-notes of 
preparation, the whole beauty and tenderness of a drawing- 
room are seen to bend over the sentimental entertainment ; nor 
do I hear the utterance of a single sigh to interrupt the death- 
tones of the thickening contest, and the moans of the wounded 
men as they fade away upon the ear, and sink into lifeless* 
silence. 

All, all goes to prove what strange and half-sighted creatures 
we are. Were it not so, war could never have been seen in 
any other aspect than that of unmingled hatefulness ; and I can 
look to nothing but to the progress of Christian sentiment upon 
earth, to arrest it** strong current of its popular and prevailing 
partiality for war. Then oidy will an imperious sense of duty 
lay the check of severe principle, on all the subordinate tastes 
and faculties of our natme. Then will glory be reduced to 
its right estimate, and the wakeful benevolence of the gospel, 
chasing away every spell, will be devoted to simple but sub- 
time enterprises for the good of ft** species. 



36. POLITICAL SEVERITY REBUKED.— Byron. 

In what state of apathy have we been plunged so long, that 
now, for the first time, the house has been officially apprised 
of these disturbances 1 All this has been transacting within 
one hundred and thirty miles of London, and yet we, " good 
easy men ! have deemed full sure our greatness was a ripen- 
ing," and have sat down to enjoy our foreign triumphs in the 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 147 

midst of domestic calamity. But all the cities you have taken, 
all the armies which have retreated before your leaders, are but 
paltry subjects of self-congratulation, if your land divides against 
itself, and your dragoons and executioners must be let loose 
against your fellow-citizens. 

You call these men a mob, desperate, dangerous, and igno- 
rant ; and seem to think that the only way to quiet the " Bellua 
mull arum capitum" is to lop off a few of its superfluous heads. 
But even a mob may be better reduced to reason by a mixture 
of conciliation and firmness, than by additional irritation and 
redoubled penalties. Are we aware of our obligations to a 
mob 1 It is the mob that labor in your fields, and serve in your 
houses — that man your navy, and recruit your army — that have 
enabled you to defy all the w r orld, — and can also defy you, 
when neglect and calumny have driven them to despair. You 
may call the people a mob ; but do not forget that a mob too 
often speaks the sentiments of the people. 

And here I must remark with what alacrity you are accus- 
tomed to fly to the succor of your distressed allies, leaving the 
distressed of your own country to the care of Providence or — 
the parish. When the Portuguese suffered under the retreat 
of the French, every arm was stretched out, every hand was 
opened, — from the rich man's largess to the widow's mite, all 
was bestowed to enable them to rebuild their villages and 
replenish their granaries. And at this moment, when thousands 
of your misguided but most unfortunate fellow-countrymen are 
struggling with the extremes of hardship and hunger, as your 
charity began abroad, it should end at home. 

A much less sum — a tithe of the bounty bestowed on Portu- 
gal, would have rendered unnecessary the tender mercies of the 
bayonet and the gibbet. But doubtless our funds have too many 
foreign claims to admit a prospect of domestic relief, — though 
never did such objects demand it. I have traversed the seat 
of war in the peninsula ; I have been in some of the mos 4 
oppressed provinces of Turkey ; but never, under the most 
despotic of infidel governments, did I behold such squalid 
wretchedness as I have seen since my return, in the very heart 
of a Christian country. 

And what are your remedies 1 After months of inaction, and 
months of action worse than inactivity, at length comes forth 
the grand specific, and never-failing nostrum of all state physi- 
cians, from the days of Draco to the present time. After feel- 
ing the pulse and shaking the head over the patient, prescribing 
the usual course of warm water and bleeding — the warm watei 
of your mawkish policy, and the lancets of your military — these 



148 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

convulsions must terminate in death, the sure consummation oi 
the prescriptions of all political Sangrados. Still there will be 
two things wanting to convict and to condemn ; and these are, 
in my opinion, twelve butchers for a jury, and a JefFeries for a 
judge ! 



37. EFFECT OF THE EXCLUSIVE SYSTEM ON THE CONDITION 

of Ireland. — Phillips. 

Look to protestant Ireland, shooting over the empire those 
rays of genius, and those thunderbolts of war, that have at once 
embellished and preserved it. I speak not of a former era. I 
refer not for my example to the day just passed, when our 
Burkes, our*Barrys, and our Goldsmiths, exiled by this system 
from their native shores, wreathed the " immortal shamrock" 
round the brow of painting, poetry, and eloquence ! But now, 
even while I speak, who leads the British senate ? A protestant 
Irishman ! Who guides the British arms ? A protestant Irish- 
man ! And why, why is Catholic Ireland, with her quintuple 
population, stationary and silent ? Have physical causes neu- 
tralized its energies ? Has the religion of Christ stupified its 
intellect ? Has the God of mankind become the partizan of a 
monopoly, and put an interdict on its advancement 1 Stranger, 
do not ask the bigoted and pampered renegade who has an in- 
terest in deceiving you ; but open the penal statutes, and weep 
tears of blood over the reason. Come — come yourself, and see 
this unhappy people ; see the Irishman, the only alien in Ire- 
land, in rags and wretchedness, staining the sweetest scenery 
ever eye reposed on ; persecuted by the middleman of some 
absentee landlord ; plundered by the lay-proctor of some rapa- 
cious and unsympathizing incumbent ; bearing through life but 
insults and injustice ; and bereaved of even any hope in death, 
by the heart-rending reflection that he leaves his children to 
bear, like their father, an abominable bondage ? Is it the fact ? 
Let any who doubt it walk out into your streets, and see the 
consequences of such a system ; see it rearing up crowds in a 
kind of apprenticeship to the prison, absolutely permitted by 
their parents, from utter despair, to lisp the alphabet and learn 
the rudiments of profligacy? For my part, never did I # meet 
one of these youthful assemblages without feeling within me a 
melancholy emotion. How often have I thought, within thai 
little circle of neglected triflers, who seem to have been born 
in caprice and bred in orphanage, there may exist some mind 



EL'RO EAN ELOQUENCE. 149 

formed of the finest mould, and wrought for immortality , a soul 
swelling with energies and stamped with the patent of the Deity, 
which, under proper culture, might perhaps bless, adorn, im- 
mortalize, or ennoble empires ; some Cincinnatus, in whose 
breast the destinies of a nation may lie dormant ; some Milton, 
"pregnant with celestial fire ;" some Curran, who, when thrones 
were crumbled and dynasties forgotten, might stand the land- 
mark of his country's genius, rearing himself amid regal ruins 
and national dissolution, a mental pyramid in the solitude of 
time, beneath w T hose shade things might moulder, and round 
whose summit eternity must play. Even in such a circle the 
young Demosthenes might have once been found, and Homer, 
the disgrace and glory of his age, have sung neglected ! Have 
not other nations witnessed those things, and who shall say that 
nature has peculiarly degraded the intellect of Ireland ? Oh, 
my countrymen, let us hope that under better auspices and a 
sounder policy, the ignorance that thinks so may meet its refu- 
tation. Let us turn from the blight and ruin of this wintry day 
to the fond anticipation of a happier period, w r hen our prostrate 
land shall stand erect among the nations, fearless and unfettered ; 
her brow blooming wi;h the wreath of science, and her path 
strewed with the offerings of art ; the breath of heaven blessing 
her flag ; the extremities of earth acknowledging her name ; 
her fields waving with the fruits of agriculture ; her ports alive 
with the contributions of commerce ; and her temples vocal 
with unrestricted piety. 



38. THE DOWNFALL OF BONAPARTE. Grant. 

The hour of retribution is at length arrived. He who had 
no mercy upon others, is now reduced to a condition which may 
excite the pity of his most implacable enemy. He who has 
made so many miserable, is now condemned to drink, to the 
very dregs, the bitter cup of degradation and sorrow. He is 
throwm from his elevation, despoiled of his glories, hunted from 
hill to hill, and from river to river ; the props with which he had 
supported his power are falling around him ; he finds no defense 
in the thrones behind which he had intrenched his usurped do- 
minion. By a connection with ancient families, he has hoped 
to clothe his new r greatness with something of prescriptive pomp 
and veneration ; but he sees those vanishing before him — Aus- 
tria renouncing his alliance — Bavaria quitting his ranks — Sax- 
onV torn from his grasp — the Rhine itself anticipating the hour 

13* 



ISO ttttfWd STATES SPEAKER. 

tjf deliverance* and that hour will assuredly come. We are 
now* indeed* too much in contact, too close to these great 
events* justly to appreciate their grandeur and their effects ; for 
It is with these prodigious displays of moral power* as it is with 
the grander and bolder features of nature. It is not till we are 
removed from their immediate vicinity, that we can ascertain 
their dimensions* and appreciate their real magnificence, Yet 
this we may even now assert, that in the whole range of modern 
history, there is nothing equal or second to these achievements ; 
and that this is one of those events, of which there are not many 
in history* which taken singly and by itself, decides the desti- 
nies of nations* and changes the face of the world. It is true, 
that the sufferings of humanity were long protracted. It is true, 
that the hope of all nations was at length wearied out into a 
dumb and listless despair. We, even we, ourselves* began at 
last to think that there could be no propitious results. We 
believed that, in favor of one individual, the eternal laws of God 
and nature, laws which* till then, we had deemed eternal, were 
reversed. We almost imagined that the lessons of moral wis- 
dom had been false* and the wishes and execrations of so many 
rnillions exercised no influence over the fates and fortunes of 
their fellow-men. But if the day was delayed, it must be con- 
fessed that it was delayed for a terrible purpose, that it might 
Concentrate its destructive energies, and approach at last, with 
redoubled and accumulated horror. If the sufferings of humanity 
have been prolonged* they were prolonged that they might in 
the course of a few months be overpaid in ample measure. 
Now, instead of armies, heartless in the cause* generals corrupt 
or incapable, sovereigns blind to their interests or their fame^ 
We see nobles and kings fighting in the ranks — we see crowds 
of accomplished captains,— and where we number men, we 
number heroes and patriots. It seems* indeed, if I may venture 
to say so-, as if ail the treasures of consolation, all the pomp 
and glory of recompense, were reserved for this occasion. In 
this one campaign is concentrated the military renown of ages. 
All that is great, and illustrious, and noble- — all that is romantic 
in bravery and wise in council — all that is venerable in heredi- 
tary worth or irresistible in popular opinion — the majesty of 
thrones — -the grandeur of empires—the transcendency of genius 
— the omnipotence of mind,— all natural— all moral energies 
seem to be thrown together, crowded and heaped upon each 
other, to form, as it were, a stage on which a spectacle, at once 
so consoling and so tremendous, might be exhibited to the eyes 
of an astonished world. 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE 151 



39. THE FAME AWAITING A REFORMATION »F THE LAW. 

Brougham, 

In pursuing the course which I now invite you to enter upon, 
I avow that I look for the co-operation of the king's govern- 
ment ; and On what are my hopes founded ? Men gather not 
grapes from thorns, nor figs from thistles. But that the vine 
should no longer yield its wonted fruit — that the fig-tree should 
refuse its natural increase, required a miracle to strike it with 
barrenness. There are those in the present ministry, w T hose 
known liberal opinions have lately been proclaimed anew to 
the world, and pledges have been avouched for their influence 
upon the policy of the state. With them others may not, upon 
all subjects, agree ; upon this, I would fain hope there will be 
found little difference. But be that as it may, whether I have 
the support of the ministers or no — to the house I look with 
confident expectation, that it will control them, and assist me ; 
if I go too far, checking my progress — if too fast, abating my 
speed — but heartily and honestly helping me in the best and 
greatest work, which the hands of the lawgiver can undertake. 
The course is clear before us ; the race is glorious to run. You 
have the power of sending your names down through all times, 
illustrated by deeds of higher fame, and more useful import, 
than ever were done within these walls. You saw the greatest 
warrior of the age—conqueror of Italy— humbler of Germany- 
terror of the north— saw him account all his matchless victo- 
ries poor, compared with the triumph you are now in a condition 
to win — saw him CGntemn the fickleness of fortune, while, in 
despite of her he could pronounce his memorable boast, " 1 
shall go down to posterity with the code in my hand !" You 
have vanquished him in the field ; strive now to rival him in the 
sacred arts of peace ! Outstrip him as a lawgiver whom in 
arms you overcame ! The lustre of the regency will be eclipsed 
by the more solid and enduring splendor of the reign. The 
praise which false courtiers feigned for our Edwards and 
Harrys, the Justinians of their day, will be the just tribute of 
the wise and the good to that monarch under whose sway so 
mighty an undertaking shall be accomplished. Of a truth, 
sceptres are most chiefly to be envied for that they bestow the 
power of thus conquering and ruling thus. It was the boast of 
Augustus — it formed part of the glare in which the perfidies of 
his earlier years were lost — that he found Rome of brick, and 
left it of marble ; a praise not unworthy a great prince, and to 
which the present reign has its claim also. But how much 



152 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

nobler will be our sovereign's boast, when lie shall have it to 
say, that he found law dear and left it cheap ; found it a sealed 
book — left it a living letter ; found it a patrimony of the rich — 
left it the inheritance of the poor ; found it the two-edged sword 
of craft and oppression — left it the staff of honesty and the shield 
of innocence ! To me, much reflecting on these things, it has 
always seemed a worthier honor to be the instrument of making 
you bestir yourselves in this high matter, than to enjoy all that 
office can bestow — office of which the patronage would be an 
irksome incumbrance, the emoluments superfluous to one con- 
tent with the rest of his industrious fellow-citizens, that his 
own hands minister to his wants : and as for the power sup- 
posed to follow it — I have lived near half a century, and I have 
learned that power and place may be severed. But one power 
I do prize ; that of being the advocate of my countrymen here, 
and their fellow-laborer elsewhere, in those things which con- 
cern the best interests of mankind. That power, I know full 
well, no government can give — no change take away ! 



40. DEFENSE OF ROWAN FOR LIBEL. Curran. 

This paper, gentlemen, insists upon the necessity of eman- 
cipating the catholics of Ireland, and that is charged as part of 
the libel. If they had waited another year, if they had kept 
this prosecution impending for another year, how much would 
remain for a jury to decide upon, I should be at a loss to dis- 
cover. It seems as if the progress of public reformation was 
eating away the ground of the prosecution. Since the com- 
mencement of the prosecution, this part of the libel has unluckily 
received the sanction of the legislature. In that interval, our 
catholic brethren have obtained that admission, which it seems 
it was a libel to propose ; in what way to account for this, I 
am really at a loss. 

Have any alarms been occasioned by the emancipation of 
our catholic brethren 1 Has the bigoted malignity of any indi- 
viduals been crushed 1 Or has the stability of the government, 
or that of the country, been weakened 1 Or is one million of 
subjects stronger than four millions 1 Do you think the benefit 
they received should be poisoned by the sting of vengeance ? 
If you think so, you must say to them, " you have demanded 
emancipation, and you have got it ; but we abhor your persons, 
we are outraged at your success ; and we will stigmatize, by a 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 153 

criminal prosecution, the relief which you have obtained from 
the voice of your country." 

I ask you, gentlemen, do you think, as honest men anxious 
for the public tranquillity, conscious that there are wounds not 
yet completely cicatrized, that you ought to speak this language, 
at this time, to men who are too much disposed to think that in 
this very emancipation they have been saved from their own 
parliament by the humanity of their sovereign 1 Or do you 
wish to prepare them for the revocation of these improvident 
concessions 1 Do you think it wise or humane at this moment 
to insult them, by sticking up in the pillory, the man who dared 
to stand forth their advocate 1 I put it to your oaths, do you 
think that a blessing of that kind, that a victory obtained by 
justice over bigotry and oppression, should have a stigma cast 
upon it by an ignominious sentence upon men bold and honest 
enough to propose that measure 1 

To propose the redeeming of religion from the abuses of the 
church, the reclaiming of three millions of men from bondage, 
and giving liberty to all who had a right to demand it : giving, 
I say, in the so much censured words of this paper, giving 
" universal emancipation !" I speak in the spirit of the British 
law, which makes liberty commensurate with, and inseparable 
from British soil ; which proclaims, even to the stranger and 
the sojourner, the first moment that he sets his foot upon British 
earth, that the ground upon which he treads is holy, and con- 
secrated by the genius of " universal emancipation." 

No matter in what language his doom may have been pro- 
nounced ; — no matter what complexion, incompatible with free- 
dom, an Indian or an African sun may have burnt upon him ; — 
no matter in wl^at disastrous battle his liberty may have been 
cloven down ; — no matter with what solemnities he may have 
been devoted upon the altar of slavery ; — the moment he touches 
the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the God sink together 
in the dust ; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty ; his 
body swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst from 
around him, and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disen- 
thralled, by the irresistible genius of " universal emancipation." 



41. REPLY TO MR. CORRy's ATTACK ON HIS CHARACTER. 

Grattan. 

Has the gentleman done ? Has he completely done ? He 
was unparliamentary from the beginning to the end of his 
speech. There was scarce a word he uttered that was not a 



154 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

violation of the privileges of the house. But I did not call him 
to order — why 1 because the limited talents of some men render 
it impossible for them to be severe without being unparliamen- 
tary. But before I sit down, I shall show him how to be severe 
and parliamentary at the same time. 

On any other occasion, I should think myself justifiable in 
treating with silent contempt any thing which might fall from 
that honorable member ; but there are times, when the insig- 
nificance of the accuser is lost in the magnitude of the accusa- 
tion. I know the difficulty the honorable gentleman labored 
under when he attacked me, conscious that, on a comparative 
view of our characters, public and private, there is nothing he 
could say which would injure me. The public would not be- 
lieve the charge. I despise the falsehood. If such a charge 
were made by an honest man, I would answer it in the manner 
I shall do before I sit down. But I shall first reply to it, when 
not made by an honest man. 

The right honorable gentleman has called me " an unim- 
peached traitor." I ask why not " traitor," unqualified by an 
epithet ? I will tell him, it was because he durst not. It was 
the act of a coward, who raises his arm to strike, but has not 
courage to give the blow. I will not call him villain, because 
it would be unparliamentary, and he is a privy counselor. I 
will not call him fool, because he happens to be chancellor of 
the exchequer. But I say, he is one who has abused the privi- 
lege of parliament, and freedom of debate, by uttering language, 
which, if spoken out of the house, I should answer only with a 
blow. I care not how high his situation, how low his character, 
how contemptible his speech ; whether a privy counselor or a 
parasite, my answer would be a blow. 

He has charged me with being connected with the rebels. 
The charge is utterly, totally, and meanly false. Does the 
honorable gentleman rely on the report of the house of lords 
for the foundation of his assertion ? If he does, I can prove to 
the committee, there was a physical impossibility of that report 
being true. But I scorn to answer any man for my conduct, 
whether he be a political coxcomb, or whether he brought him- 
self into power by a false glare of courage or not. 

I have returned, not as the right honorable member has said, 
to raise another storm — I have returned to discharge an honor- 
able debt of gratitude to my country, that conferred a great 
reward for past services, which, I am proud to say, was not 
greater than my desert. I have returned to protect that con- 
stitution-, of which I was the parent and the founder, from the 
assassination of such men as the right honorable gentleman and 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 155 

his unworthy associates. They are corrupt — they are seditious 
— and they, at this very moment are in, a conspiracy against 
their country. I have returned to refute a libel, as false as it is 
malicious, given to the public under the appellation of a report 
of the committee of the lords. Here I stand ready for impeach- 
ment or trial. I dare accusation. I defy the honorable gentle- 
man ; I defy the government ; I defy their whole phalanx : let 
them come forth. I tell the ministers, I will neither give them 
quarter nor take it. I am here to lay the shattered remains of 
my constitution on the floor of this house, in defense of the lib- 
erties of my country. 



42. reputation. — Phillips 

Who shall estimate the cost of priceless reputation — that 
impress which gives this human dross its currency — without 
which we stand despised, debased, depreciated ? Who shall 
repair it injured ? Who shall redeem it lost ? Oh ! well and 
truly does the great philosopher of poetry esteem the world's 
wealth as " trash" in the comparison. Without it gold has no 
value, birth no distinction, station no dignity, beauty no charm, 
age no reverence ; or, should I not rather say, without it every 
treasure impoverishes, every grace deforms, every dignity de- 
grades, and all the arts, the decorations, and accomplishments 
of life, stand, like the beacon-blaze upon a rock, warning the 
whole world that its approach is danger — that its contact is 
death. The wretch without it is under eternal quarantine ; — 
no friend to greet — no home to harbor him. The voyage of his 
life becomes a joyless peril ; and in the midst of a?ll ambition 
can achieve, or avarice amass, or rapacity plunder, he tosses 
on the surge a buoyant pestilence ! But, let me not degrade 
into the selfishness of individual safety, or individual exposure 
this universal principle ; it testifies a higher, a more ennobling 
origin. It is this which, consecrating the humble circle of the 
hearth, will at times extend itself to the circumference of the 
horizon ; which nerves the arm of the patriot to save his coun- 
try ; which lights the lamp of the philosopher to amend man ; 
which, if it does not inspire, will yet invigorate the martyr to 
merit immortality ; which, when the world's agony is passed, 
and the glory of another is dawning, will prompt the prophet, 
even in his chariot of fire, and in his vision of heaven, to be- 
queath to mankind the mantle of his memory ! Oh, divine, oh, 
delightful legacy of a spotless reputation ! Rich is the inherit- 



156 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

anee it leaves ; pious the example it terrifies ; pure, precious, 
and imperishable, the hope which it inspires ! Can you con- 
ceive a more atrocious injury than to filch from its possessor 
this inestimable benefit— to rob society of its charm, and soli- 
tude of its solace ; not only to outlaw life, but to attaint death, 
converting the very grave, the refuge of the sufferer, into the 
gate of infamy and of shame ! I conceive few crimes beyond 
it. He who plunders my property takes from me that which 
can be repaired by time : but what period can repair a ruined 
reputation 1 He who maims my person affects that which medi- 
cine may remedy : but what herb has sovereignty over the wound 
of slander 1 He who ridicules my poverty or reproaches my 
profession, upbraids me with that which industry may retrieve, 
and integrity may purify : but what riches shall redeem the 
bankrupt fame ? What power shall blanch the sullied snow of 
character ? Can there be an injury more deadly 1 Can there 
be a crime more cruel ? It is without remedy — it is without 
antidote — it is without evasion ! The reptile calumny is ever 
on the watch. From the fascination of its eye no activity can 
escape ; from the venom of its fang no sanity can recover. It 
has no enjoyment but crime ; it has no prey but virtue ; it has 
no interval from the restlessness of its malice, save when, 
blasted with its victims, it grovels to disgorge them at the 
withered shrine where envy idolizes her own infirmities. Under 
such a visitation how dreadful would be the destiny of the vir- 
tuous and the good, if the providence of our constitution had 
not given you the power, as, I trust, you will have the prin- 
ciple, to bruise the head of the serpent, and crush and crumble 
the altar of its idolatry ! 



43 LIMITATION OF THE AMOUNT OF PENSIONS. Curran 

I am surprised that gentlemen have taken up such a foolish 
opinion, as that our constitution is maintained by its different 
component parts mutually checking and controlling each other : 
they seem to think with Hobbes, that a state of nature is a state 
of warfare ; and that, like Mohammed's coffin, the constitution 
is suspended between the attraction of different powers. My 
friends seem to think that the crown should be restrained from 
doing wrong by a physical necessity ; forgetting, that if you 
take away from a man all power to do wrong, you at the same 
time take away from him all merit of doing right, and by making 
it impossible for men to run into slavery, you enslave them most 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 157 

effectually. But if, instead of the three different parts of our 
constitution drawing forcibly in right lines, at opposite direc- 
tions, they were to unite their power, and draw all one way, in 
one right line, how great would be the effect of their force, how 
happy the direction of this union ! The present system is not 
only contrary to mathematical rectitude, but to public harmony ; 
but if instead of privilege setting up his back to oppose prerog- 
ative, he was to saddle his back and invite prerogative to ride, 
how comfortably might they both jog along ; and therefore it 
delights me to hear the advocates for the royal bounty's flow- 
ing freely, and spontaneously, and abundantly, as Holywell in 
Wales. If the crown grants double the amount of the revenue 
in pensions, they approve of their royal master, for he is the 
breath of their nostrils. 

But we shall find that this complaisance, this gentleness be- 
tween the crown and its true servants, is not confined at home ; 
it extends its influence to foreign powers. Our merchants have 
been insulted in Portugal, our commerce interdicted ; — what did 
the British lion do ? Did he whet his tusks 1 Did he bristle 
up and shake his mane ? Did he roar ? no ; no such thing — 
the gentle creature wagged his tail for six years at the court of 
Lisbon, and now we hear from the delphic oracle on the trea- 
sury bench, that he is wagging his tail in London to Chevalier 
Pinto ; who, he hopes soon to be able to tell us, will allow his 
lady to entertain him as a lap-dog ; and when she does, no doubt 
the British factories will furnish some of their softest woolens 
to make a cushion for him to lie upon. But though the gentle 
beast had continued so long fawning and crouching, I believe 
his vengeance will be as great as it is slow, and that posterity, 
whose ancestors are yet unborn, will be surprised at the ven- 
geance he will take. 

This polyglot of wealth, this museum of curiosities, the 
pension list, embraces every link in the human chain, every 
description of men, women, and children, from the exalted ex- 
cellence of a Hawke, or a Rodney, to the debased situation of 
a lady who humbleth herself that she may be exalted. But the 
lesson it inculcates forms its greatest perfection ; it teacheth, 
that sloth and vice may eat that bread which virtue and honesty 
may starve for, after they have earned it. It teaches the idle 
and dissolute to look up for that support which they are too 
proud to stoop and earn. It directs the minds of men to an 
entire reliance on the riding power of the state, who feeds the 
ravens of the royal aviary that cry continually for food. It 
teaches them to imitate those saints on the pension list, that are 
like the lilies of the field ; they toil not, neither do they spin, 

14 



158 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

yet are arrayed like Solomon in his glory. In fine, it teaches 
a lesson, which indeed they might have learned from Epictetus 
— that it is sometimes good not to be over-virtuous : it shows, 
that in proportion as our distresses increase, the munificence 
of the crown increases also ; in proportion as our clothes are 
rent, the royal mantle is extended over us. 



44. FALLACY OF MR. TIERNEy's ARGUMENT ON A MOTION FOR 

peace with the French. — -Canning, 

So much, sir, as to the particular argument, that the past 
conduct of our former allies ought to lead us to withhold ail 
credit from their future professions. There is, however, another 
and more general argument, comprehending alike these and the 
other powers of Europe ; which, but that it has been stated by 
the honorable gentleman, I should really have thought scarcely 
worth confutation. We, it seems — a wise, prudent, reflecting 
people — are much struck with all the outrages France has com- 
mitted upon the continent, but on the powers of the continent 
itself, no lasting impression has been made. Is this probable ? 
Is it possible ? Is it in the nature of things, that the contem- 
plation of the wrongs and miseries which others have endured, 
should have worked a deeper impression upon our minds, than 
the suffering of those miseries and wrongs has left in the minds 
of those on whom they were actually inflicted ? 

" Segnius irritant animos demissa per aures, 
Gluam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus." 

Ye', the echo and report of the blows by which other coun- 
tries have fallen, are supposed to have more effect upon us, 
than the blows themselves produced upon the miserable victims 
who sunk beneath them. 

The pillage and bloody devastation of Italy strikes us with 
horror ; — but Italy, we are to believe, is contented with what 
has befallen her. The insults which are hurled by the French 
garrison from the walls of the citadel of Turin, rouse resent- 
ment in our breasts, but have no effect on the feelings of the 
Piedmontese. We read with indignation of the flag of Berna- 
dotte displayed in mockery and insult to the emperor and his 
subjects ; but it flaunted in the eyes of the people, without, ex- 
ciling any emotions of hatred or resentment. The invasion of 
a province of a friendly power, with whom they had no cause 
iior pretence for hostility, has created in us a decided detesta 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 159 

lion for the unprincipled hypocrisy and ambition of the direc- 
tory ; but the Ottoman Porte sits down contented with the loss 
of Egypt ; feels no injury, and desires neither reparation nor 
revenge. And then, sir, the wrongs of Switzerland ! they, too, 
are calculated to excise an interest here ; but the Swiss, no 
doubt, endured them with quiet resignation and contented hu- 
mility. If, after the taking of Soleure, the venerable magis- 
trates of that place were first handed round the town in barba- 
rous triumph, and afterwards, contrary to all the laws of war, of 
nations, and nature, were inhumanly put to death ; if, when the 
unoffending town of Sion capitulated to the French, the troops 
were let loose to revel in every species of licentiousness and 
cruelty ; — -if, more recently, when Stantz was carried after a 
short, but vigorous and honorable resistance, such as would 
have conciliated the esteem of any but a French conqueror, 
the whole town was burnt to the ground, and the ashes quenched 
with the blood of the inhabitants ! — The bare recital of these 
horrors and atrocities awakens in British bosoms, I trust it 
does awaken, I trust it will long keep alive an abhorrence of 
the nation and name of that people by whom such execrable 
cruelties have been practised, and such terrible calamities 
inflicted ; but on the Swiss, w r e are to understand, these cruel- 
ties and calamities have left no lasting impression ; the inhab- 
itants of Soleure, who followed, with tears of anguish and indig- 
nation, their venerated magistrates to a death of terror and igno- 
miny ; the husbands, and fathers, and sons, of those wretched 
victims who expired in torture and in shame, beneath the bru- 
tality of a savage soldiery at Sion ; the wretched survivors 
of those who perished in the ruins of the country at Stantz, 
they all felt but a transient pang ; their tears by this time are 
dried ; their rage is hushed ; their resentment silenced ; there 
is nothing in their feelings which can be stimulated into hon- 
orable and effectual action ; there is no motive for their exer- 
tions upon which we can safely and permanently rely ! Sir, 
I should be ashamed to waste your time by arguing such a 
question. 



45. INDIGNANT REBUKE ON THE EMPLOYMENT OF INDIANS IN 

civilized warfare. — Chatham. 

I am astonished ! — shocked ! to hear such principles con- 
fessed — to hear them avowed in this house, or in this country . 
principles equally unconstitutional, inhuman, and unchristian ! 

My lords, I did not intend to have encroached again upoo 



160 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

your attention ; but I cannot repress my indignation. I feel 
myself impelled by every duty. My lords, we are called upon 
as members of this house, as men, as Christian men, to protest 
against such notions standing near the throne, polluting the ear 
of majesty. " That God and nature put into our hands !" I know 
not what ideas that lord may entertain of God and nature ; but 
I know that such abominable principles are equally abhorrent 
to religion and humanity. What ! to attribute the sacred sanc- 
tion of God and nature to the massacre of the Indian scalping 
knife — to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, roasting, 
and eating, literally, my lords, eating the mangled victims of 
his barbarous battles ! Such horrible notions shock every pre- 
cept of religion, divine or natural, every generous feeling of 
humanity, and every sentiment of honor. 

These abominable principles, and this more abominable 
avowal of them, demand the most decisive indignation. I call 
upon that right reverend bench, those holy ministers of the gos- 
pel, and pious pastors of our church ; I conjure them to join in 
the holy work, and vindicate the religion of their God. I ap- 
peal to the wisdom and the law of this learned bench, to defend 
and support the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops, 
to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their lawn ; upon the 
learned judges, to interpose the purity of their ermine, to save 
us from this pollution. I call upon the honor of your lordships, 
to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain your 
own. I call upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to 
vindicate the national character. I invoke the genius of the 
constitution. From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the 
immortal ancestors of this noble lord frown with indignation at 
the disgrace of his country. In vain he led your victorious 
fleets against the boasted armada of Spain ; in vain he defended 
and established the honor, the liberties, the religion, the pro- 
testant religion, of this country, against the arbitrary cruelties 
of popery and the inquisition, if these more than popish cruel- 
ties and inquisitorial practices are let loose among us. — To 
turn forth into our settlements, among our ancient connexions, 
friends, and relations, the merciless cannibal, thirsting for the 
blood of man, woman, and child ! to send forth the infidel sav- 
age — against whom 1 against your protestant brethren ; to lay 
waste their country, to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate 
their race and name, with these horrible hell-hounds of savage 
war! — hell-hounds, I say, of savage war! Spain armed her- 
self with blood-hounds to extirpate the wretched natives of 
America ; and we improve on the inhuman example even of 
Spanish cruelty; we turn loose these savage hell-hounds against 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 161 

our brethren and countrymen in America, of the same language, 
laws, liberties, and religion, endeared to us by every tie that 
should sanctify humanity. 

My lords, this awful subject, so important to our honor, our 
constitution, and our religion, demands the most solemn and 
effectual inquiry. And I again call upon your lordships, and 
the united powers of the state, to examine it thoroughly and 
decisively, and to stamp upon it an indelible stigma of the 
public abhorrence. And I again implore these holy prelates of 
our religion, to do away these iniquities from among us. Let 
them perform a lustration ; let them purify this house, and this 
country, from this sin. 

My lords, 1 am old and weak, and at present unable to say 
more ; but my feelings and indignation were too strong to have 
said less. I could not have slept this night in my bed, nor 
reposed my head on my pillow, without giving this vent to 
my eternal abhorrence of such preposterous and enormous 
principles. 



46. America.- — Phillips. 

Search creation round, where can you find a country that 
presents so sublime a view, so interesting an anticipation ? 
What noble institutions ! What a comprehensive policy ! 
What a wise equalization of every political advantage ! The 
oppressed of all countries, the martyrs of every creed, the inno- 
cent victim of despotic arrogance or superstitious phrenzy, may 
there find refuge ; his industry encouraged, his piety respected, 
his ambition animated ; with no restraint but those laws which 
are the same to all, and no distinction but that which his merit 
may originate. Who can deny that the existence of such a 
country presents a subject for human congratulation ! W r ho 
can deny that its gigantic advancement offers a field for the 
most rational conjecture ! At the end of the very next century, 
if she proceeds as she seems to promise, what a wondrous 
spectacle may she not exhibit ! Who shall say for what purpose 
mysterious Providence may not have designed her ! Who shall 
say that when in its follies or its crimes the old world may have 
buried all the pride of its power, and all the pomp of its civili- 
zation, human nature may not find its destined renovation in 
the new ! when its temples and its trophies shall have moldered 
into dust — when the glories of its name shall be but the legend 
of tradition, and the light of its achievements live only in song ; 
philosophy will revive again in the sky of her Franklin, and 

14* 



162 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

glory rekindle at the urn of her Washington. Is this the visior) 
of romantic fancy ? Is it even improbable ? Is it half so im- 
probable as the events, which, for the last twenty years, have 
rolled like successive tides over the surface of the European 
world, each erasing the impressions that preceded it ? Many, 
I know there are, who will consider this supposition as wild 
and whimsical ; but they have dwelt with little reflection upon 
the records of the past. They have but ill observed the never- 
ceasing progress of national rise and national ruin. They form 
their judgment on the deceitful stability of the present hour, 
never considering the innumerable monarchies and republics, 
in former days, apparently as permanent, their very existence 
become now the subject of speculation — I had almost said of 
scepticism. I appeal to history! Tell me, thou reverend 
chronicler of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realized, 
can all the wealth of an universal commerce, can all the 
achievements of successful heroism, or all the establishments 
of this world's wisdom, secure to empire the permanency of its 
possessions ? Alas, Troy thought so once ; yet the land of 
Priam lives only in song ! Thebes thought so once, yet her 
hundred gates have crumbled, and her very tombs are but as 
the dust they were vainly intended to commemorate ! So 
thought Palmyra — where is she ! So thought Persepolis, and 
now — 

"Yon waste, where roaming lions howl, 
Yon aisle, where moans the grey-eyed owl, 
Shows the proud Persian's great abode, 
Where sceptred once, an earthly god, 
His power-clad arm controlled each happier clime, 
Where sport the warbling muse, and fancy soars sublime." 

So thought the countries of Demosthenes and the Spartan, 
yet Leonidas is trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted 
by the servile, mindless, and enervate Ottoman ! In his hurried 
march, Time has but looked at their imagined immortality, and 
all its vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their 
ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps ! The days 
of their glory are as if they had never been ; and the island that 
was then a speck, rude and neglected in the barren ocean, now 
rivals the ubiquity of their commerce, the glory of their arms, 
the fame of their philosophy, the eloquence of their senate, and 
the inspiration of their bards ! Who shall say, then, contem- 
plating the past, that England, proud and potent as she appears, 
may not one day be what Athens is, and the young America 
yet soar to be what Athens was ! Who shall say, when the 
European column shall have moldered, and the night of bar- 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 163 

barism obscured its very ruins, that that mighty continent may 
not emerge from the horizon, to rule, for its time, sovereign of 
the ascendant. 

Such, sir, is the natural progress of human operations, and 
such the unsubstantial mockery of human pride. 



47. CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. Phillips. 

He is fallen ! We may now pause before that splendid pro- 
digy, which towered amongst us like some ancient ruin, whose 
frown terrified the glance its magnificence attracted. Grand, 
gloomy, and peculiar, he sat upon the throne a sceptred hermit, 
wrapt in the solitude of his own originality. A mind, bold, in- 
dependent, and decisive — a will, despotic in its dictates — an 
energy that distanced expedition, and a conscience pliable to 
every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraordinary 
character — the most extraordinary, perhaps, that in the annals- 
of this world, ever rose, or reigned, or fell. Flung into life, 
in the midst of a revolution that quickened every energy of a 
people who acknowledge no superior, he commenced his course, 
a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity ! With no friend 
but his sword, and no fortune but his talents, he rushed in the 
list where rank, and wealth, and genius had arrayed themselves, 
and competition fled from him as from the glance of destiny. — 
He knew no motive but interest — he acknowledged no criterion 
but success — he worshiped no God but ambition, and with an 
eastern devotion he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry. Sub- 
sidiary to this, there was no creed that he did not profess, there 
was no opinion that he did not promulgate ; in the hope of a 
dynasty, he upheld the crescent ; for the sake of a divorce, he 
bowed before the cross : the orphan of St. Louis, he became the 
adopted child of the republic : and with a parricidal ingratitude, 
on the ruins both of the throne and tribune, he reared the throne 
of his despotism. A professed catholic, he imprisoned the 
pope ; a pretended patriot, he impoverished the country ; and, 
in the name of Brutus, he grasped without remorse, and wore 
without shame, the diadem of the Caesars ! Through this pan- 
tomime of policy, fortune played the clown to his caprices. At 
his touch, crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems vanished, 
the* wildest theories took the color of his whim, and all that 
was venerable, and all that was novel, changed places with the 
rapidity of a drama. Even apparent defeat assumed the appear- 
ance of victory — his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny— 



164 UNITED STATES St D AKfcfl, 

ruin itself only elevated him to empire. But if his fortune was 
great, his genius was transcendent ; decision flashed upon his 
councils ; and it was the same to decide and to perform. To 
inferior intellects his combinations appeared perfectly impossi- 
ble, his plans perfectly impracticable ; but, in his hands, sim- 
plicity marked their development, and success vindicated their 
adoption. His person partook the character of his mind — if 
the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other never bent in 
the field. — Nature had no obstacle that he did not surmount — 
space no opposition that he did not spurn ; and whether amid 
Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or Polar snows, he seemed proof 
against peril, and empowered with ubiquity ! The whole con- 
tinent trembled at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the 
miracle of their execution. Scepticism bowed to the prodigies 
of his performance ; romance assumed the air of history ; noi 
was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful for ex- 
pectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving 
his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals. All the visions 
of antiquity became commonplaces in his contemplation ; kings 
were his people — nations were his outposts ; and he disposed 
of courts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and cabinets, 
as if they were titular dignitaries of the chess-board ! — Amid 
all these changes, he stood immutable as adamant. 

It mattered little whether in the field or in the drawing-room 
— with the mob or the levee — wearing the jacobin bonnet or the 
iron crown — banishing a Braganza, or espousing a Hapsburg 
-^dictating peace on a raft to the Czar of Russia, or contem- 
plating defeat at the gallows of Leipsig — he was still the same 
military despot ! 

In this wonderful combination, his affectations of literature 
must not be omitted. The gaoler of the press, he affected the 
patronage of letters — the proscriber of books, he encouraged 
philosophy — the persecutor of authors and the murderer of 
printers, he yet pretended to the protection of learning ! the 
assassin of Palm, the silencer of De Stael, and the denouncer 
of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the benefactor of De 
Lille, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of En 5 - 
land. Such a medley of contradictions, and at the same time 
such an individual consistency, were never united in the same 
character. — A royalist — a republican and an emperor — a Mo- 
hammedan — a catholic and a patron of the synagogue — a sub- 
altern and a sovereign — a traitor and a tyrant — a Christian and 
an infidel — he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, 
impatient, inflexible original — the same mysterious, incompre- 
hensible self — the man without a model, and without a shadow 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 165 



48. TO THE JURY IN THE CASE OF J. A. WILLIAMS FOR A LIBEL 
ON THE CLERGY OF DURHAM. Brougham. 

The Church of England has nothing to dread from externa] 
violence. Built upon a rock, and lifting its head towards 
another world, it aspires to an imperishable existence, and 
defies any force that may rage from without. But let its friends 
beware of the corruption engendered within and beneath its 
massive walls, and in that corruption let all its well-wishers, 
all who, whether for religious or for political interests, desire 
its stability, beware how they give encouragement to the vermin 
bred in that corruption, and who stick and sting against the 
hand that would buush the rottenness away ! My learned friend 
sympathizes with the priesthood of Durham ; and innocently 
enough laments that they possess not the power of defending 
themselves through the public press. Let him be consoled ; 
they are not so very defenseless ; they are not so entirely des- 
titute of the aids of the press, as through their council they 
affect to be. They have largely used that press, I wish I could 
say " as not abusing it" — and against some persons very near 
me, I mean especially against the defendant, whom they have 
scurrilously and foully libeled, through that very vehicle of 
public instruction, over which, for the first time, among the 
other novelties of the day, I now hear they have no command. 
Not, indeed, that they have wounded deeply, or injured much, 
but that is no fault of theirs — and, without hurting, they have' 
given annoyance. The insect nestled in filth, and brought into 
life by corruption — I mean the dirt-fly, — though its flight be 
lowly, and its sting puny, can buzz and storm, and irritate the 
skin, and offend the nostril, and altogether give nearly as much 
annoyance as the wasp, whom it aspires to emulate. So these 
reverend slanderers — these pious backbiters — devoid of force 
to wield the sword, snatch the dagger ; and destitute of wit to 
point or to barb it, and make it rankle in the wound, steep it 
in venom to make it fester in the scratch. Those venerated 
personages, whose harmless and undefended state is now de- 
plored, have been the wholesale dealers in calumny — the espe- 
cial promoters of that vile trafflck of late the disgrace of the 
country — and now they come to demand protection against 
retaliation, and shelter from just exposure ; and, to screen 
themselves, would have you prohibit all investigation of the 
abuses by which they exist, and the malpractice by which the^ 
disgrace their calling. If all existing institutions and all public- 
functionaries must henceforth be sacred from question arnon^/ 



166 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

the people ; if, at length, the free press of this country, and 
with it the freedom itself, is to be destroyed — at least let not 
this heavy blow fall from your hands — leave it to some profli- 
gate tyrant ; leave it to a mercenary and effeminate parliament 
— a hireling army, degraded by the lash, and the appointed 
instrument of enslaving its fellow-citizens ; leave it to a pam- 
pered House of Lords ; a venal House of Commons ; some 
vulgar minion, servant of all work to an insolent and rapacious 
court — some unprincipled soldier, unknown, thank God, in our 
times, combining the talents of an usurper with the fame of 
a captain — leave to such desperate hands and such fit tools so 
horrid a work ! But you, an English jury, parent of the press, 
yet supported by it, and doomed to perish the instant its health 
and strength are gone ; lift not you against it an unnatural 
hand — prove to the country that her rights are safe in youi 
keeping ; but maintain above all things the stability of her 
institutions by well guarding her corner-stone ; defend the 
church from her worst enemies, who, to hide their own mis- 
deeds, would veil her solid foundations in darkness ; and pro- 
claim to them by your verdict of acquittal, that henceforward, 
as heretofore, all the recesses of the sanctuary must be visited 
by the continual light of the day, and by that light all its abuses 
" be explored !" 



49. paine's age of reason. — Erskine. 

It seems, gentlemen, this is an age of reason, and the time 
and the person are at last arrived, that are to dissipate the errors 
that have overspread the past generations of ignorance ! The 
believers in Christianity are many, but it belongs to the few 
that are wise to correct their credulity ! Belief is an act of 
reason ; and superior reason may therefore dictate to the weak. 
In running the mind along the numerous list of sincere and de- 
vout Christians, I cannot help lamenting that Newton had not 
lived to this day, to have had his shallowness filled up with this 
new flood of light. But the subject is too awful for irony. I 
will speak plainly and directly. Newton was a Christian! 
Newton whose mind burst forth from the fetters cast by nature 
upon our finite conceptions ; Newton whose science was truth, 
and the foundation of whose know 1 edge of it was philosophy. 
Not those visionary and arrogant assumptions which too often 
usurp its name, but philosophy resting upon the basis of mathe- 
matics, which, like figures, cannot lie. Newton who carried 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 167 

the line and rule to the utmost barriers of creation, and ex- 
plored the principles by which, no doubt, all created matter is 
held together and exists. 

But this extraordinary man, in the mighty reach of his mind, 
overlooked, perhaps, the errors which a minuter investigation 
of the created things on this earth might have taught him, of 
the essence of his Creator. What shall then be said of the 
great Mr. Boyle, who looked into the organic structure of all 
matter, even to the brute inanimate substances which the foot 
treads on. Such a man may be supposed to have been equally 
qualified with Mr. Paine, to " look through nature up to nature's 
God." Yet the result of all his contemplation was the most 
confirmed and devout belief in all which the other holds in 
contempt as despicable and driveling superstition. But this 
error might, perhaps, arise from a want of due attention to the 
foundations of human judgment, and the structure of that under- 
standing which God has given us for the investigation of truth. 

Let that question be answered by Mr. Locke, who was to 
the highest pitch of devotion and adoration a Christian. Mr. 
Locke, whose office was to detect the errors of thinking, by 
going up to the fountain of thought, and to direct into the proper 
track of reasoning the devious mind of man, by showing him 
its whole process, from the first perceptions of sense, to the 
last conclusions of ratiocination ; putting a rein besides upon 
false opinion, by practical rules for the conduct of human 
judgment. 

But these men were only deep thinkers, and lived in their 
closets, unaccustomed to the train" ck of the world, and to the 
laws which partially regulate mankind. Gentlemen, in the 
place where you now sit to administer the justice of this great 
country, above a century ago the never to be forgotten Sir Mat- 
thew Hale presided, whose faith in Christianity is an exalted 
commentary upon its truth and reason, and whose life was a 
glorious example of its fruits in man ; administering human 
justice with a wisdom and purity drawn from the pure fountain 
of the Christian dispensation, which has been, and will be, in 
all ages, a subject of the highest reverence and admiration. 
But it is said by Mr. Paine, that the Christian fable is but the 
tale of the more ancient superstitions of the world, and may be 
easily detected by a proper understanding of the mythologies 
of the heathens. 

Did Milton understand those mythologies ? Was he less 
versed than Mr. Paine in the superstitions of the world ? No : 
they were the subject of his immortal song ; and though shut 
cut from all recurrence to them, he poured them forth from the 



168 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

stores of a memory rich with all that man ever knew, and laid 
them in their order as the illustration of that real and exalted 
faith, the unquestionable source of that fervid genius, which 
cast a sort of shade upon all the other works of man. 

"He passed the bounds of flaming space, 
Where angels tremble while they gaze ; 
He saw, till blasted with excess of light, 
He closed his eyes in endless night." 

But it was the light of the body only that was extinguished ; 
* the celestial light shone inward, and enabled him to justify 
the ways of God to man." 

Thus, gentlemen, you find all that is great, or wise, or splen- 
did, or illustrious, among created beings, all the minds gifted 
beyond ordinary nature, if not inspired by their Universal 
Author for the advancement and dignity of the world, though 
divided by distant ages, and by the clashing opinions distin- 
guishing them from one another, yet joining, as it were, in 
one sublime chorus to celebrate the truths of Christianity, and 
laying upon its holy altars the never-fading offerings of then 
immortal wisdom. 



50. THE HORRORS OF WAR. HalL 

Real war, my friends, is a very different thing from that 
painted image of it, which you see on a parade, or at a review; 
it is the most awful scourge that Providence employs for the 
chastisement of man. It is the garment of vengeance with 
which the Deity arrays himself, when he comes forth to punish 
the inhabitants of the earth. 

Though we must all die, as the woman of Tekoa said, and 
are as water spilt upon the ground which cannot be gathered 
up, yet it is impossible for a humane mind to contemplate the 
rapid extinction of innumerable lives without concern. To> 
perish in a moment, to be hurried instantaneously, without 
preparation and without warning, into the presence of the 
Supreme Judge, has something in it inexpressibly awful and 
affecting. 

Since the commencement of those hostilities which are now 
so happily closed, it may be reasonably conjectured that not 
less than half a million of our fellow-creatures have fallen a 
sacrifice. Half a million of beings, sharers of the same nature, 
warmed with the same hopes, and as fondly attached to life as 
ourselves, have been prematurely swept into the grave ; each 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE. 169 

of whose deaths has pierced the heart of a wife, a parent, a 
brother, or a sister. How many of these scenes of complicated 
distress have occurred since the commencement of hostilities, 
is known only to Omniscience : that they are innumerable, 
cannot admit of a doubt. In some parts of Europe, perhaps 
there is scarcely a family exempt. 

In war, death reigns without a rival, and without control. — 
War is the work, the element, or rather the sport and triumph 
of death, who glories not only in the extent of his conquest, but 
in the richness of his spoil. In the other methods of attack, in 
the other fonns which death assumes, the feeble and the aged, 
who at the best can live but a short time, are usually the vic- 
tims ; here it is the vigorous and the strong. 

To confine our attention to the number of those who are slain 
in battle, would give but a very inadequate idea of the ravages 
of the sword. The lot of those who perish instantaneously, 
may"be considered, apart from religious prospects, as compara- 
tively happy, since they are exempt from those lingering dis- 
eases and slow tonnents, to which others are liable. We can- 
not see an individual expire, though a stranger or an enemy, 
without being sensibly moved, and prompted by compassion to 
lend him every assistance in our power. Every trace of re- 
sentment vanishes in a moment ; every other emotion gives 
way to pity and terror. 

In these last extremities, we remember nothing but the re- 
spect and tenderness due to our common nature. What a scene 
then must a field of battle present, where thousands are left 
without assistance, and without pity, with their wounds exposed 
to the piercing air, while the blood, freezing as it flow r s, binds 
them to the earth, amidst the trampling of horses, and the in- 
sults of an enraged foe ! 

But we have hitherto only adverted to the sufferings of those 
who are engaged in the profession of arms, without taking into 
our account the situation of the countries which are the scene 
of hostilities. How dreadful to hold every thing at the mercy 
of an enemy, and to receive life itself as a boon dependent on 
the sword. How boundless the fears which such a situation 
must inspire, where the issues of life and death are determined 
by no known laws, principles or customs, and no conjecture 
can be formed of our destiny, except as far as it is dimly de- 
ciphered in characters of blood, in the dictates of revenge, and 
the caprices of power. 

Conceive but for a moment the consternation which thtf 
approach of an invading army would impress on the peaceful 
uiUgcio in this neighborhood. When you have placed vour- 

IS 



170 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

6elw»s for an instant in that situation, you will learn to sympa- 
thize with those unhappy countries which have sustained the 
ravages of arms. 

But how is it possible to give you an idea of these horrors ? 
Here you behold rich harvests, the bounty of heaven, and the 
reward of industry, consumed in a moment, or trampled under 
foot, while famine and pestilence follow the steps of desolation. 
There the cottages of peasants given up to the flames, mothers 
expiring through fear, not for themselves but their infants ; the 
inhabitants flying with their helpless babes in all directions, — 
miserable fugitives on their native soil ! 

In another part you witness opulent cities taken by storm ; 
the streets, where no sounds were heard but those of peaceful 
industry, filled on a sudden with slaughter and blood, resound- 
ing with the cries of the pursuing and the pursued ; the palaces 
of nobles demolished, the houses of the rich pillaged, the chas- 
tity of virgins and matrons violated, and every age, sex, and 
rank, mingled in promiscuous massacre and ruin. 



51. INVECTIVE AGAINST WARREN HASTINGS. Sheridan. 

Had a stranger at this time gone into the province of Oude r 
ignorant of what had happened since the death of Sujah Dowla, 
that man, who with a savage heart, had still great lines of char* 
acter, and who, with "ail his ferocity in war, had still, with a 
cultivating hand, preserved to his country the riches which it 
derived from benignant skies and a prolific soil. If this stranger, 
ignorant of all that had happened in the short interval, and ob» 
serving the wide and genera) devastation, and all the horrors of 
the scene — of plains unclothed and brown-— of vegetables burnt 
up and extinguished— of villages depopulated and in ruin— 
of temples unroofed and perikhing— of reservoirs broken down 
and dry, — he would naturally inquire, what war has thus laid 
waste the fertile fields of this once beautiful and opulent country 
—what civil dissentions have happened, thus to tear asundei 
and separate the happy societies that once possessed those 
villages — what disputed succession— what religious rage has, 
with unholy violence, demolished those temples, and disturbed 
fervent, but unobtruding piety, in the exercise of its duties ?— 
What merciless enemy has thus spread the horrors of fire and 
sword — what severe visitation of Providence has dried up the 
fountain, and taken from the face of the earth every vestige of 
verdure 1— Or rather^ what monsters have stalked pver the 



KtJROi'kAN ELOQljLNCfc. 171 

country, tainting and poisoning, with pestiferous breath, what 
the voracious appetite could not devour ! To such questions, 
what must be the answer ? No wars have ravaged these lands 
and depopulated these villages — no civil discords have been 
felt-^no disputed succession — no religious rage — no merciless 
enemy — ^no affliction of Providence, which, while it scourged for 
the moment, cut off the sources of resuscitation — no voracious 
and poisoning monsters— ^no, all this has been accomplished 
by the friendship, generosity, and kindness of the English 
nation. They have embraced us with their protecting arms, 
and, lo ! those are the fruits of their alliance. What, then, shall 
we be told, that under such circumstances, the exasperated feel- 
ings of a whole people, thus goaded and spurred on to clamor 
and resistance, were excited by the poor and feeble influence oi 
the Begums ! When we hear the description of the paroxysm, 
fever and delirium, into which despair had thrown the natives, 
when on the banks of the polluted Ganges, panting for death, 
they tore more widely open the lips of their gaping wounds, to 
accelerate their dissolution, and while their blood was issuing, 
presented their ghastly eyes to heaven, breathing their last and 
fervent prayer that the dry earth might not be suffered to drink 
their blood, but that it might rise up to the throne of God, and 
rouse the eternal Providence to avenge the wrongs of their 
country. Will it be said that this was brought about by the 
incantations of these Begums in their secluded Zenana 1 Or 
that they could inspire this enthusiasm and this despair into 
the breasts of a people who felt no grievance, and had suffered 
no torture ? What motive, then, could have such influence in 
their bosom ? What motive ! That which nature, the common 
parent, plants in the bosom of man, and which, though it may 
be less active in the Indian than in the Englishman, is still con- 
genial with and makes part of his being — that feeling which 
tells him, that man was never made to be the property of man ; 
but that when through pride and insolence of power, one human 
creature dares to tyrannize over another, it is a power usurped, 
and resistance is a duty — that feeling which tells him that all 
power is delegated for the good, not for the injury of the peo- 
ple, and that when it is converted from the original purpose, 
the compact is broken, and the right is to be resumed — that 
principle which tells him that resistance to power usurped is 
not merely a duty which he owes to himself and to his neighbor, 
but a duty which he owes to his God, in asserting and main- 
taining the rank which he gave him in the creation !- — to that 
common God, who, where he gives the form of man, whatever 
may be the complexion, gives also the feelings and the rights 



• 72 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

of man — that principle, which neither the rudeness of ignorance 
can stifle, nor the enervation of refinement extinguish ! — that 
principle which make it base for a man to suffer when he ought 
to act, which, tending to preserve to the species the original 
designations of Providence, spurns at the arrogant distinctioi s 
of man, and vindicates the independent qualities of his race. 



52. hyder all — Burke. 

When at length Hyder Ali found that he had to do with men 
who either would sign no convention, or whom no treaty and 
no signature could bind, and who were the determined enemies 
of human intercourse itself, he decreed to make the country 
possessed by these incorrigible and predestinated criminals, a 
memorable example to mankind. He resolved, in the gloomy 
recesses of a mind capacious of such things, to leave the whole 
Carnatic an everlasting monument of vengeance, and to put 
perpetual desolation, as a barrier, between him and those, 
against whom the faith which holds the moral elements of the 
world together, was no protection. He became at length so 
confident of his force, and so collected in his might, that he 
made no secret whatever of his dreadful resolution. Having 
terminated his disputes with every enemy, and every rival, 
who buried their mutual animosities in their common interest, 
against the creditors of the Nabob of Arcot, he drew from every 
quarter, whatever a savage ferocity could add to his new rudi- 
ments in the art of destruction ; and compounding all the mate- 
rials of fury, and havoc, and desolation, into one black cloud, 
he hung for a while on the declivities of the mountains. 

Whilst the authors of all these evils were idly and stupidly 
gazing on this menacing meteor, which blackened all the hori- 
zon, it suddenly burst and poured down the whole of its con- 
tents upon the plains of the Carnatic. Then ensued a scene 
of wo, the like of which no eye had seen, nor heart conceived, 
and which no tongue could adequately tell. All the horrors of 
war, before known or heard of, were mercy to that new havoc. 
A storm of universal fire blasted every field, consumed every 
house, and destroyed every temple. The miserable inhabitants, 
flying from their flaming villages, in part, were slaughtered ; 
others without regard to sex, to age or rank, or sacredness 
of function, fathers torn from children, husbands from wives, 
enveloped in a whirlwind of cavalry, and amidst the goading 
spear? of drivers, and the trampling of pursuing horses, were 



EUROPEAN ELOQUENCE 173 

swept into captivity in an unknown and hostile land. Those 
who were able to evade this tempest fled to the walled cities. 
But escaping from fire, sword, and exile, they fell into the jaws 
of famine. 

For eighteen months, without intermission, this destruction 
raged from the gates of Madras to the gates of Tanjore ; and so 
completely did these masters in their art, Hyder Ali, and his 
more ferocious son, absolve themselves of their impious vow. 
that when the British armies traversed, as they did, the Car- 
natic for hundreds of miles in all directions, through the whole 
line of their march they did not see one man, not one woman, 
not one child, not one four-footed beast, of any description 
whatever. One dead uniform silence reigned over the whole 
region 



60. SPEECH OF MAC BRIAR TO THE SCOTCH INSURGENTS.— =- 

Scott. 

Your garments are dyed — but not with the juice of the wine- 
press ; your swords are rilled with blood, but not with the blood 
of goats or lambs ; the dust of the desert on which ye stand 
is made fat with gore, but not with the blood of bullocks ; for 
the Lord hath a sacrifice in Bozrah, and a great slaughter in 
the land of Idumea. These were not the firstlings of the 
flock ; this is not the savor of myrrh, of frankincense, or of 
sweet herbs, that is steaming in your nostrils ; but these bloody 
trunks are the carcasses of those that held the bow and the 
lance, who were cruel and would show no mercy, whose voice 
roared like the sea, who rode upon horses, every man in array 
as if to battle. 

Those wild hills that surround you are not a sanctuary 
planked with cedar and plated with silver ; nor are ye minis- 
tering priests at the altar, with censers and Avith torches ; but 
ye hold in your hands the sword, and the bow, and the weapons 
of death. — And yet, verily, I say unto you, that not w T hen the 
ancient temple was in its first glory, was there offered sacrifice 
more acceptable than that which you have this day presented, 
giving to the slaughter the tyrant and the oppressor, with the 
rocks for your altars, and the sky for your vaulted sanctuary, 
and your own good swords for the instruments of sacrifice. 

Leave not, therefore, the plough in the furrow — turn not 
back from the path in which you have entered, like the famous 
worthies of old, whom God raised up for the glorifying of his 
name, and the deliverance of his afflicted people — halt not in 

15* 



174 UNITED STATES SIEAKER. 

the race you are running, lest the latter end should be worse 
than the beginning. Wherefore, set up a standard in the land ; 
blow a trumpet upon the mountains ; let not the shepherd tarry 
by his sheepfold, nor the seedsman continue in the ploughed 
field, but make the watch strong, sharpen the arrows, burnish 
the shields, name ye the captains of thousands, and captains 
of hundreds, of fifties, and of tens ; call the footmen like the 
rushing of winds, and cause the horsemen to come up like the 
sound of many waters, for the passages of the destroyers are 
stopped, their rods are burned, and the face of their men of 
battle hath been turned to flight. 

Heaven has been with you, and has broken the bow of the 
mighty ; then let every man's heart be as the heart of the valiant 
Maccabeus — every man's hand as the hand of the mighty 
Sampson — every man's sword as that of Gideon, which turned 
not back from the slaughter ; for the banner of Reformation is 
spread abroad on the mountains in its first loveliness, and the 
gates of hell shall not prevail against it. 

Well is he this day that shall barter his house for a helmet, 
and sell his garment for a sword, and cast in his lot with the 
children of the covenant, even to the fulfilling of the promise ; 
and wo, wo unto him who, for carnal ends and self-seeking, 
shall withhold himself from the great work ; for the curse shall 
abide with him, even the bitter curse of Meroz, because he 
came not to the help of the Lord against the mighty. 

Up, then, and be doing ; the blood of martyrs, reeking upon 
scaffolds, is crying for vengeance ; the bones of saints, which 
lie whitening in the highways, are pleading for retribution ; the 
groans of innocent captives from desolate isles of the sea, and 
from the dungeons of the tyrants' high places, cry for deliver- 
ance ; the prayers of persecuted Christians, sheltering them- 
selves in dens and deserts from the sword of their persecutors, 
famished with hunger, starving with cold, lacking fire, food, 
shelter, and clothing, because they serve God rather than man 
— all are with you, pleading, watching, knocking, storming the 
gates of heaven in your behalf. 

Heaven itself shall fight for you, as the stars in their courses 
fought against Sisera. 



SPECIMENS OF ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 



1. SELECTION FROM CHAPTER XXXIX OF THE BOOK OF JOB 

Who hath sent out the wild ass free ? or who hath loosed 
the bands of the wild ass ? He scorneth the multitude of the 
city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver. The range 
of the mountains is his pasture, and he searcheth after every 
green thing. 

Hast thou given the horse strength ? Hast thou clothed his 
neck with thunder ? Canst thou make him afraid as a grass- 
hopper ? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in 
the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength : he goeth on to meet 
the armed men. He mocketh at fear and is not affrighted ; 
neither turneth he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth 
against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He swal- 
loweth the ground with fierceness and rage ; neither believeth 
he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He saith among the 
trumpets, Ha, ha ; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the 
thunder of the captains and the shouting. 



Z. SELECTION FROM CHAPTER XXVIII OF THE BOOK OF JOB, 

But where shall wisdom be found ? and where is the place 
of understanding 1 Man knoweth not the place thereof, neither 
is it found in the land of the living. The depth saith, It is not 
in me : and the sea saith, It is not with me. It cannot be 
gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the price 
thereof. It cannot be valued with the gold of Ophir, with the 
precious onyx, or the sapphire. The gold and the crystal can- 
not equal it ; and the exchange of it shall not be for jewels of 
fine gold. No mention shall be made of coral or of pearls ; for 
the price of wisdom is above rubies. The topaz of Ethiopia 
shall not equal it, neither shall it be valued with pure gold. 
Whence then cometh wisdom? and where is the place of under- 
standing ? Seeing it is hid from the eyes of all living, and kept 



1?6 UNITED STATES SPEAKEJt. 

close from the fowls of the air. Destruction and death say, 
We have heard the fame thereof with our ears. God under- 
standeth the way thereof, and he knoweth the place thereof. 
For he looketh to the ends of the earth, and seeth under the 
whole heaven ; to make the weight for the winds ; and he 
weigheth the waters by measure. When he made a decree for 
the rain, and a way for the lightning and the thunder ; then did 
he see it and declare it ; he prepared it, yea, and searched it 
out. And unto man he said, Behold the fear of the Lord, that 
is wisdom ; and to depart from evil is understanding. 



8> THE SONG OF MOSES ; FROM CHAPTER XV OF EXODUS* 

Then sang Moses and the children of Israel this song unto 
the Lord, and spake, saying, I will sing unto the Lord, for he 
hath triumphed gloriously ; the horse and his rider hath he 
thrown into the sea. The Lord is my strength and song, and 
he is become my salvation : he is my God, and I will prepare 
him a habitation ; my father's God, and I will exalt him. The 
Lord is a man of war : Jehovah is his name, Pharaoh's char- 
iots and his hosts hath he cast into the sea ; his chosen captains 
also are drowned in the Red Sea. The depths have covered 
them : they sank into the bottom as a stone, Thy right hand, 
O Lord, hath dashed in pieces the enemy. And in the great- 
ness of thine excellency thou hast overthrown them that rose 
up against thee : thou sentest forth thy wrath, which consumed 
them as stubble. And with the blast of thy nostrils the waters 
were gathered together, the floods stood upright as a heap, 
and the depths were congealed in the heart of the sea. The 
enemy said, I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the 
spoils ; my lust shall be satisfied upon them ; I will draw my 
sword, my hand shall destroy them. Thou didst blow with thy 
wind, the sea covered them : they sank as lead in the mighty 
waters. Who is like unto thee, O Lord, among the gods ? 
who is like thee, glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing 
wonders 1 Thou stretchedstout thy hand, the earth swallowed 
them. Thou in thy mercy hast led forth the people which thou 
hast redeemed : thou hast guided them in thy strength unto thy 
holy habitation. The people shall hear, and be afraid ; sorrow 
shall take hold on the inhabitants of Palestine. Then the 
dukes of Edom shall be amazed; the mighty men of Moab, 
trembling shall take hold upon them ; all the inhabitants of Ca- 
naan .shall melt away. Fear and dread shall fall upon them $ 



ANCIENT ELOQUENCE, J 77 

by the greatness of thine arm they shall be as still as a atone ; 
till thy people shall pass over, O Lord, till the people pass over 
which thou hast purchased. Thou shalt bring them in, and 
plant them in the mountain of thine inheritance, in the place, O 
Lord, which thou hast made for thee to dwell in ; in the sanc- 
tuary, O Lord, which thy hands have established. Jehovah 
shall reign for ever and ever. 



4. SELECTION FROM THE BOOK OF JOEL. 

Hear this, ye old men, and give ear, all ye inhabitants of the 
land. Hath this been in your days, or even in the days of your 
fathers ? Tell ye your children of it, and let your children tell 
their children, and their children another generation. That 
which the palmer-worm hath left hath the locust eaten ; and 
that which the locust hath left hath the canker-worm eaten ; and 
that which the canker-worm hath left hath the caterpillar eaten. 
Awake, ye drunkards, and weep ; and howl all ye drinkers of 
wine, because of the new wine ; for it is cut off from your 
mouth. For a nation is come up upon my land, strong, and 
without number, whose teeth are the teeth of a lion, and he 
hath the cheek-teeth of a great lion. He hath laid my vine 
waste, and barked my fig-tree ; he hath made it clean bare, 
and cast it away ; the branches thereof are made white. La- 
ment like a virgin girded with sackcloth for the husband of her 
youth. Be ye ashamed, O ye husbandmen ; howl, O ye vine 
dressers, for the wheat and for the barley : because the harvest 
of the field is perished. The vine is dried up, and the fig-tree 
languisheth ; the pomegranate-tree, the palm-tree also, and the 
apple-tree, even all the trees of the field, are withered ; because 
joy is withered away from the sons of men. Gird yourselves 
and lament, ye priests ; howl, ye ministers of the altar ; come, 
lie all night in sackcloth, ye ministers of my God : for the 
meat-offering and the drink-offering is withholden from the 
house of your God. Sanctify ye a fast, call a solemn assem- 
bly, gather the elders and all the inhabitants of the land into 
the house of the Lord your God, and cry unto the Lord, Alas 
for the day ! for the day of the Lord is at hand, and as a 
destruction from the Almighty shall it come. Blow ye the 
trumpet in Zion, and sound an alarm in my holy mountain : 
let all the inhabitants of the land tremble : for the day of the 
Lord cometh, for it is nigh at hand : a day of darkness and of 
gloominess, a day of clouds and of thick darkness, as the 



]78 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

rfiOrning spread upon the mountains ; a great people and & 
strong, there hath not been ever the like, neither shall be any 
more after it, even to the years of many genera .ions. 



5. SELECTION FROM CHAPTER VIII OF THE BOOK OF PROVERBS, 

Doth not wisdom cry ? and understanding put forth her voice ? 
She standeth in the top of high places, by the way in the 
places of the paths. She crieth at the gates, at the entry of the 
city, at the coming in at the doors : Unto you, O men, I call ; 
and my voice is to the sons of man. O ye simple, understand 
wisdom : and ye fools, be ye of an understanding heart. Hear ; 
for I will speak of excellent things : and the opening of my 
lips shall be right things. For my mouth shall speak truth : 
and wickedness is an abomination to my lips. Receive my 
instruction^ and not silver ; and knowledge rather than choice 
gold. For wisdom is better than rubies ; and all the things that 
may be desired are not to be compared to it. Counsel is mine, 
and sound wisdom ; I am understanding ; I have strength. By 
me kings reign, and princes decree justice. By me princes 
rule, and nobles, even all the judges of the earth. I love them 
that love me : and those that seek me early shall find me. 
Riches and honor are with me, yea, durable riches and righ- 
teousness. My fruit is better than gold, yea, than fine gold ; 
and my revenue than choice silver. The Lord possessed me 
in the beginning of his way, before his works of old. I was 
Set up from everlasting, from the beginning, ©r ever the earth 
Was. When there were no depths, I was brought forth ; when 
there were no fountains abounding with water. Before the 
mountains were settled, before the hills I was brought forth. 
While as yet he had not made the earth, nor the fields, nor the 
highest part of the dust of the world. When he prepared the 
heavens, I was there ; when he set a compass upon the face of 
the depth : When he established the clouds above : when he 
strengthened the fountains of the deep : When he gave to the 
sea his decree, that the waters should not pass his command* 
rnent ; when he appointed the foundations of the earth : Then 
I was by him, as one brought up with him : and I was daily 
his delight, rejoicing always before him ; rejoicing in the habi- 
table part of his earth ; and my delights were with the sons of 
men. Now therefore hearken unto me, O ye children : for 
blessed are they that keep my ways. Hear instruction and be 



ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. l?9 

wise, and refuse it not. For whoso findeth me findeth life, and 
shall obtain favor of the Lord. But he that sinneth against m© 
wrongeth his own soul : all they that hate me love death, 



6. SELECTION FROM CHAPTER LX OF THE BOOK OF ISAIAIf, 

Arise, shine ; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord 
is risen upon thee. For behold, the daflaiess shall cover the 
earth, and gross darkness the people : but the Lord shall arise 
upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee. And the 
Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of 
thy rising. Lift up thine eyes round about, and see : all they 
gather themselves together, they come to thee ; thy sons shall 
come from far, and thy daughter shall be nursed at thy side. 
Then thou shalt see, and flow together, and thine heart shall 
fear and be enlarged : because the abundance of the sea shall 
be converted unto thee, the forces of the Gentiles shall coma 
unto thee. The multitude of camels shall cover thee, the drom- 
edaries of Midian and Ephah ; all they from Sheba shall come > 
they shall bring gold and incense ; and they shall show forth 
the praises of the Lord. 

All the flocks of Kedar shall be gathered together unto thee, 
the rams of Nebaioth shall minister unto thee : they shall coma 
up with acceptance on mine altar, and I will glorify the house of 
my glory. Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to 
their windows 1 Surely the isles shall wait for me, and the ships 
of Tarshish first, to bring thy sons from far, their silver and 
their gold with them, unto the name of the Lord thy God, and to 
the Holy One of Israel, because he hath glorified thee. And the 
sons of strangers shall build up thy walls, and their kings shall 
minister unto thee : for in my wrath I smote thee, but in my 
favor have I had mercy on thee. Therefore thy gates shall be 
open continually ; they shall not be shut day nor night ; that men 
may bring unto thee the forces of the Gentiles, and that their 
kings may be brought. For the nation and kingdom that will 
not serve thee shall perish ; yea, those nations shall be utterly 
wasted. The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee, the fir? 
tree, the pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of 
my sanctuary ; and I will make the place of my feet glorious. 
The sons also of them that afflicted thee shall come bending 
unto thee ; and all they that despise thee shall bow themselves 
down at the soles of thy feet ; and they shall call thee, The city 
of the Lord, the Zion of the Holy One of Israel Wberoa» 



180 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

thou hast been forsaken and hated, so that no man went through 
thee, I will make thee an eternal excellency, a joy of many 
generations. For brass 1 will bring gold, and for iron I will 
bring silver, and for wood brass, and for stones iron : I will 
also make thy officers peace, and thine exactors righteousness. 
Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting nor 
destruction within thy borders ; but thou shalt call thy walls 
salvation, and thy gates praise. The sun shall be no more thy 
light by day : neither for brightness shall the moon give light 
unto thee : but the Eford shall be unto thee an everlasting light, 
and thy God thy glory. 



7. EXTRACT FROM DEMOSTHENES ON THE CROWN. 

There are two distinguished qualities, Athenians ! which 
the virtuous citizen should ever possess ; (I speak in general 
terms, as the least invidious method of doing justice to myself,) 
a zeal for the honor and pre-eminence of the state, in his offi- 
cial conduct ; on all occasions, and in all transactions, an affec- 
tion for his country. This nature can bestow. Abilities and 
success depend upon another power. And in this affection you 
find me firm and invariable. Not the solemn demand of my 
person, nor the vengeance of the Amphictyonic council which 
they denounced against me, nor the terror of their threatenings, 
nor the flattery of their promises — no, nor the fury of those ac- 
cursed wretches whom they roused like wild beasts against me, 
could ever tear this affection from my breast. From first to last, 
I have uniformly pursued the just and virtuous course of con- 
duct : assertor of the honors, of the prerogatives, of the glory of 
my country : studious to support them, zealous to advance them, 
nry whole being is devoted to this glorious cause. I was 
never known to inarch through the city with a face of joy and 
exultation at the success of a foreign power ; embracing, and 
announcing the joyful tidings to those who I supposed would 
transmit it to the proper place. I never was known to receive 
the successes of my own country with tremblings, with sigh- 
ings, with eyes bending to the earth, like those impious men 
who are the defamers of the state, as if by such conduct they 
were not defamers of themselves : who look abroad, and, when 
a foreign potentate hath established his power on the calamities 
of Greece, applaud the event ; and tell us we should take every 
means to perpetuate his power. 

Hear me, ye immortal gods ! and let not these their desires 
be ratified in heaven! Infuse -a better spirit into these men! 



ANCIENT ELOQUENJE. 181 

Inspire even their minds with purer sentiments ! This is my first 
prayer — Or, if their natures are not to be reformed, on them, 
on them only, discharge your vengeance ! Pursue them both by 
land and sea ' Pursue them even to destruction ! But, to us 
display your goodness in a speedy deliverance from impending 
evils, and all the blessings of protection and tranquillity ' 



8. NICOLAUS AGAINST PUTTING THE ATHENIAN GENERAL. 
NICIAS, TO DEATH. 

You here behold an unfortunate father, who has felt more 
than any other Syracusan the fatal effects of this war, by the 
death of two sons, who formed all his consolation, and were the 
only support of his old age. I cannot, indeed, forbear admiring 
their courage and felicity, in sacrificing to their country's wel- 
fare a life of which they would one day have been deprived by 
the common course of nature ; but then I cannot but be strongly 
affected with the cruel wound which their death has made in 
my heart, nor forbear hating and detesting the Athenians, the 
authors of this unhappy war, as the murderers of my children. 
I cannot, however, conceal one circumstance, which is, that I 
am less sensible of my private affliction than of the honor of my 
country ; and I see it exposed to eternal infamy by the bar- 
barous advice which is now given you. The Athenians, indeed, 
merit the worst treatment, and every kind of punishment that 
can be inflicted on them, for so unjustly declaring war against 
us ; but have not the gods, the just avengers of crimes, punished 
them, and revenged us sufficiently ? — When their generals laid 
down their arms and surrendered, did they not do this in hopes 
of having their lives spared ? And if we put them to death, will 
it be possible for us to avoid the just reproach of our having 
violated the laws of nations, and dishonored our victory by an 
unheard-of cruelty ? How ! will you suffer your glory to be 
thus sullied, in the face of the whole world, and have it said, 
that a nation, who first dedicated a temple in their city to 
clemency, had not found any in yours ? Surely victories and 
triumphs do not give immortal glory to a city ! but the exer- 
cising of mercy towards a vanquished enemy, the using of 
moderation in the greatest prosperity, and fearing to offend the 
gods by a haughty and insolent pride. You doubtless have not 
forgot that this Nicias, whose fate you are going to pronounce, 
was the very man who pleaded your cause in the assembly of 
the Athenians, and employed ail his credit, and the whole 

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power of his eloquence, to dissuade his country from embarking 
in this war ; should you, therefore, pronounce sentence of death 
on this worthy general, would it be a just reward for the zeal he 
showed for your interest 1 With regard to myself, death would 
be less grievous to me than the sight of so horrid an injustice 
committed by my countrymen and fellow-citizens. 



y. EXTRACT FROM DEMOSTHENES ON THE CROWN. 

Athens never was once known to live in a slavish, though 
a secure obedience to unjust and arbitrary power. No : our 
whole history is one series of noble contests for pre-eminence ; 
the whole period of our existence hath been spent in braving 
dangers, for the sake of glory and renown. iVnd so highly do you 
esteem such conduct, so consonant to the Athenian character, 
that those of your ancestors who were most distinguished in 
the pursuit of it, are ever the most favorite objects of your 
praise — and with reason. For who can reflect without aston- 
ishment upon the magnanimity of those men, who resigned 
their lands, gave up their city and embarked in their ships, 
to avoid the odious state of subjection ? Who chose Themis- 
tocles, the adviser of this conduct, to command their forces ; 
and, when Cyrsilus proposed that they should yield to the 
terms prescribed, stoned him to death 1 Nay, the public indig- 
nation was not yet allayed. Your very wives inflicted the same 
vengeance on his wife. For the Athenians of that day looked 
out for no speaker, no general to procure them a state of pros- 
perous slavery. They had the spirit to reject even life, unless 
they were allowed to enjoy tha-t life in freedom. Should I 
then attempt to assert, that it was I w T ho inspired you with sen- 
timents worthy of your ancestors, I should meet the just resent- 
ment of every hearer. No : it is my point to show, that such 
sentiments are properly your own ; that they were the senti- 
ments of my country, long before my days. I claim but my 
share of merit, in having acted on such principles, in every part 
of my administration. He then, who condemns every part of 
my administration, he who directs you to treat me with severity, 
as one who hath involved the state in terrors and dangers, 
while he labors to. deprive me of present honor, robs you of the 
applause of all posterity. For, if you now pronounce, that as 
my public conduct hath not been right, Ctesiphon must stand 
condemned, it must be thought that you yourselves have acted 
wrong, not that you owe your present state to the caprice of 



ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. Z83 

fortune. But it cannot be ! No, my countrymen ! it cannot be 
you have acted wrong, in encountering danger bravely, for the 
liberty and the safety of all Greece. No ! by those generous 
souls of ancient times, who were exposed at Marathon ! By 
those who stood arrayed at Platsea ! By those who encountered 
the Persian fleet at Salamis ! who fought at Artemisium ! No ! 
by all those illustrious sons of Athens, whose remains lie de- 
posited in the public monuments. 



10. FROM CICERO'S ORATION AGAINST VERRES. 

I ask now, Verres, what have you to advance against this 
charge ? Will you pretend to deny it ? Will you pretend that 
anything false, that even anything aggravated is alleged against 
you ? Had any prince, or any state, committed the same out- 
rage against the privileges of Roman citizens, should we not 
think we had sufficient reason for declaring immediate war 
against them ? What punishment, then, ought to be inflicted on 
a tyrannical and wicked praetor, who dared, at no greater dis- 
tance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, to put to the 
infamous death of crucifixion that unfortunate and innocent citi- 
zen, Publius Gavius Cosanus, only for his having asserted his 
privilege of citizenship and declared his intention of appealing 
to the justice of his country against a cruel oppressor, who had 
unjustly confined him in prison at Syracuse, whence he had 
just made his escape ? The unhappy man, arrested as he was 
going to embark for his native country, is brought before the 
wicked praetor. With eyes darting fury, and a countenance dis- 
torted with cruelty, he orders the helpless victim of his rage to 
be stripped, and rods to be brought ; accusing him, but without 
the least shadow of evidence, or even of suspicion, of having 
come to Sicily as a spy. It was in vain that the unhappy man 
cried out, "lama Roman citizen, I have served under Lucius 
Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and will attest my innocence." 
The bloodthirsty praetor, deaf to all he could urge in his own 
defense, ordered the infamous punishment to be inflicted. Thus, 
fathers, was an innocent Roman citizen publicly mangled with 
scourging ; whilst the only words he uttered amidst his cruel 
sufferings were, "lama Roman citizen !" With these he hoped 
to defend hims.elf from violence and infamy. But of so little 
service was this privilege to him, that while he was asserting 
his citizenship, the order was given for his execution ; for his 
execution upon the cross ! 



184 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

O liberty! sound once delightful to every Roman ear! 
sacred privilege of Roman citizenship ! once sacred, now tram- 
pled upon ! But what then ! is it come to this ? Shall an 
inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his power of the 
Roman people, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, 
scourge, torture with fire and red-hot plates of iron, and at last 
put to the infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen 1 Shall 
neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, nor the tears 
of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman common- 
wealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the 
licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in confidence 
of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty and sets mankind 
at defiance ? 



11. T. QUINCTIUS TO THE ROMANS. 

Though I am not conscious, Romans, of any crime by me 
committed, it is yet with the utmost shame and confusion, that 
I appear in your assembly. You have seen it — posterity will 
know it! — in the fourth consulship of Titus Quinctius, the 
iEqui and Volsci (scarce a match for the Hernici alone) came 
in arms, to the very gates of Rome, — and went away unchas- 
tised ! The course of our manners, indeed, and the state of 
our affairs, have long been such, that I had no reason to presage 
much good ; but, could I have imagined that so great an igno- 
miny would have befallen me this year, I would, by banishment 
or death, (if all other means had failed,) have avoided the sta- 
tion I am now in. What ! might Rome then have been taken, 
if those men who were at our gates had not wanted courage for 
the attempt ? — Rome taken whilst I was consul ? — Of honors I 
had sufficient — of life enough — more than enough — I should 
have died in my third consulate. 

But who are they that our dastardly enemies thus despise ? — 
the consuls, or you, Romans ? If we are in fault, depose us 
or punish us yet more severely. If you are to blame — may 
neither gods nor men punish your faults! only may you repent ! 
— No, Romans, the confidence of our enemies is not owing to 
their courage, or to their belief of your cowardice : they have 
been too often vanquished, not to know both themselves and 
you. Discord, discord is the ruin of this city ! The eternal 
disputes between the senate and the people are the sole cause 
of our misfortunes. While we set no bounds to our dominion, 
nor you to your liberty ; while you impatiently endure patrician 



anc'jEnt eloquence. 185 

magistrates, and we plebeian : our enemies take heart, grow 
elated and presumptuous. In the name of the immortal gods, 
what is it, Romans, you would have ? You desired tribunes ; 
for the sake of peace, we granted them. You were eager to 
have decemvirs ; we consented to their creation. You grew 
weary of these decemvirs ; we obliged them to abdicate. Your 
hatred pursued them when reduced to private men ; and we 
suffered you to put to death, or banish, patricians of the first 
rank in the republic. You insisted upon the restoration of the 
tribuneship ; we yielded ; we quietly saw consuls of your own 
faction elected. You have the protection of your tribunes, and 
the privilege of appeal ; the patricians are subjected to the de- 
crees of the commons. Under pretence of equal and impartial 
laws, you have invaded our rights ; and we have suffered it, 
and we still suffer it. When shall we see an end of discord 1 
When shall we have one interest, and one common country ? 
Victorious and triumphant, you show less temper than we under 
defeat. When you are to contend with us, you can seize the 
Aventine hill, you can possess yourselves of the Mons Sacer. 



12. CHRYSOSTOM, ON THE DECEITFULNESS OF WORLDLY 
GRANDEUR. 

Where is now that splendor of the most exalted dignities ? 
Where are those marks of honor and distinction? What has 
become of that pomp of feasting and rejoicings ? What is the 
issue of those frequent acclamations, and extravagantly flatter- 
ing encomiums, lavished by a whole people assembled in the 
circus to see the public shows ? A single blast of wind has 
stripped that proud tree of all its leaves ; and, after shaking its 
very roots, has forced it in an instant out of the earth. Where 
are those false friends, those vile flatterers, those parasites so 
assiduous in making their court, and in discovering a servile 
attachment by their words and actions ? All this is gone and 
fled away, like a dream, like a flower, like a shadow. 

Had I not just reason to set before Eutropius the inconstancy 
of riches ? He now has found, by his own experience, that, 
like fugitive slaves, they have abandoned him, and are become, 
in some measure, traitors and murderers, since they are the 
principal cause of his fall. I often repeated to him that he 
ought to have a greater regard to my admonitions, how grating 
soever they might appear, than to the insipid praises which 
flatterers were perpetually lavishing on him, because, " faithful 

16* 



186 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

are the wounds of a friend ; but the kisses of an enemy are 
deceitful." 

Had I not just reason to address him in this manner ? What 
has become of the crowd of courtiers ? They have turned their 
backs ; they have renounced his friendship ; and are solely in- 
tent upon their own interest and security, even at the expense 
of his. We submitted to his violence, in the meridian of his 
fortune, and, now he is fallen, we support him to the utmost of 
our power. The church, against which he has warred, opens 
its bosom to receive him ; and the theatres, the eternal object 
of his favor, which had so often drawn down his indignation 
upon us, have abandoned and betrayed him. 

I do not speak this to insult the misfortunes of him who is 
fallen, nor to open and make wounds smart that are still bleed- 
ing ; but in order to support those who are standing, and teach 
them to avoid the like evils. And the only way to avoid these, 
is, to be fully persuaded of the frailty and vanity of worldly 
grandeurs. To call them a flower, a blade of grass, a smoke, 
a dream, is not saying enough, since they are even below 
nothing. Of this we have a very sensible proof before our eyes. 

What man ever rose to such a height of grandeur ? Was he 
not immensely rich ? Did he not possess every dignity 1 Did 
not the whole empire stand in fear of him ? And now, more 
deserted, and trembling still more, than the meanest of unhappy 
wretches, than the vilest slave, than the prisoners confined 
in dungeons ; having perpetually before his eyes, swords un- 
sheathed to destroy himself ; torments and executioners! de- 
prived of daylight at noonday, and expecting, every moment, 
that death which perpetually stares him in the face ! 

You were witnesses, yesterday, when people came from the 
palace in order to drag him hence, how he ran to the holy 
altars, shivering in every limb, pale and dejected, scarce utter- 
ing a word but what was interrupted by sobs and groans, and 
rather dead than alive. I again repeat, I do not declaim in 
this manner in order to insult his fall, but to move and affect 
you by the description of his calamities, and to inspire you 
with tenderness and compassion for one so wretched. 



13. FROM CICERO'S FIRST ORATION AGAINST CATILINE. 

How far wilt thou, Oh Catiline ! abuse our patience ? How 
*ong shall thy madness outbrave our justice ? To what ex- 
tremities art thou resolved to push thy unbridled insolence of 



ANCTENT ELOQUENCE 187 

guilt ! Canst thou behold the nocturnal arms that watch the 
palatium, the guards of the city, the consternation of the citi 
zens ; all the wise and worthy clustering into consultation 
this impregnable situation of the seat of the senate, and the 
reproachful looks of the fathers of Rome ? Canst thou, I say, 
behold all this, and yet remain undaunted and unbashed ? Arf 
thou sensible that thy measures are detected ? 

Art thou sensible that this senate, now thoroughly informed 
comprehend the full extent of thy guilt ? Point me out the 
senator ignorant of thy practices, during the last and the pre 
ceding night ; of the place where you met, the company you 
summoned, and the crime you concerted. The senate is con- 
scious, the consul is witness to this : yet mean and degene- 
rate ! the traitor lives ! Lives ! did I say ? He mixes with the 
senate ; he shares in our counsels ; with a steady eye he sur- 
veys us ; he anticipates his guilt ; he enjoys his murderous 
thoughts, and coolly marks us out for bloodshed. Yet we, 
boldly passive in our country's cause, think we act like Ro. 
man's if we can escape his frantic rage. 

Long since, Oh Catiline ! ought the consul to have doomed 
thy life a forfeit to thy country ; and to have directed upon thy 
own head the mischief thou hast long been meditating for ours. 
Could the noble Scipio, when sovereign pontiff, as a private 
Roman, kill Tiberius Gracchus for a slight encroachment upon 
the rights of his country ; and shall we, her consuls, with per- 
severing patience endure Catiline, whose ambition is to deso- . 
late a devoted world with fire and sword ? 

There was — there was a time, when such was the spirit of 
Rome, that the resentment of her magnanimous sons more 
sternly crushed the Roman traitor, than the most inveterate en- 
emy. Strong and weighty, Oh Catiline ! is the decree of the 
senate we can now produce against you ; neither wisdom is 
wanting in this state, nor authority in this assembly ; but we, 
the consuls, we are defective in our duty. 



14. from cicero's fourth oration against catilink. 

I perceive, conscript fathers, that every look, that every eye 
is fixed upon me. I see you solicitous not only for your own, 
and your countiy's danger, but was that repelled, for mine also. 
This proof of your affection is grateful to me in sorrow, and 
pleasing in distress ; but, by the immortal gods ! I conjure you 
to lay it all aside ; and without any regard to my safety, think 



18$ UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

only of yourselves, and of your families. For should the con 
dition of my consulship be such as to subject me to all manner 
of pains, hardships and sufferings, I will bear them not only 
resolutely but cheerfully, if by my labors I can secure your 
dignity and safety, with that of the people of Rome. Such 
conscript fathers, has been the fortune of my consulship, that 
neither the forum, that centre of all equity ; nor the field of Mars, 
consecrated by consular auspices ; nor the senate-house, the 
principal refuge of all nations ; nor domestic walls, the common 
asylum of all men ; nor the bed, destined to repose ; nay, nor 
even this honorable seat, this chair of state,, have been free from 
perils, and from the snares of death. Many things have I dis- 
sembled, many have I suffered, many have I yielded to, and 
many struggled with in silence, for your quiet. But if the im- 
mortal gods would grant that issue to my consulship, of saving 
you, conscript fathers, and the people of Rome, from a massa- 
cre ; your wives, your children, and the vestal virgins, from the 
bitterest persecutions ; the temples and altars of the gods, with 
this our fair country, from sacrilegious flames ; and all Italy 
from war and desolation ; let what fate soever attend me, I will 
be content with it. For if Publius Lentulus, upon the report of 
soothsayers, thought his name portended the ruin of the state ; 
why should not I rejoice that my consulship has been as it- 
were reserved by fate for its preservation. 

Wherefore, conscript fathers, think of your own safety ; turn 
your whole care upon the state ; secure yourselves, your wives, 
your children, your fortunes ; guard the lives and dignity of the 
people of Rome, and cease your concern and anxiety for me. 
For first, I have reason to hope, that all the gods the protectors 
of this city, will reward me according to my deserts. Then, 
should any thing extraordinary happen, I am prepared to die 
with an even and constant mind. For death can never be dis- 
honorable to the brave, nor premature to one who has reached 
the dignity of consul, nor afflicting to the wise. 



15. GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS SOLDIERS. 

My wife and children are ever dear to me, but not more so 
than my father and the commonwealth. But the emperor will 
be safe in his own imperial dignity, and the commonwealth has 
other armies to fight her battles. For my wife and children, 
if from their destruction you might derive additional glory, I 
cmiid yield them up a sacrifice in such a ^ause : at present 



ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 189 

I remove them from the rage of frantic men. If horrors are 
still to multiply, let my blood glut your fury. The great grand- 
son of Augustus, and the daughter-in-law of Tiberius, need 
not be left to fill the measure of your iniquity. Without that 
horrible catastrophe the scene of guilt may end. But let me 
ask you, in these last few days what have you not attempted ? 
What have you left unviolated ? By what name shall I now 
address you ? Shall I call you soldiers ? Soldiers ! Who 
have dared to besiege the son of your emperor ! who have 
made him a prisoner in his own entrenchments ! Can I call 
you citizens 1 Citizens ! who have trampled under your feet 
the authority of the senate ; who have violated the most awful 
sanctions, even those which hostile states have ever held in 
respect, the rights of ambassadors and the law of nations ! 
Julius Caesar by a single word was able to quell a mutiny : he 
spoke to the men who resisted his authority : he called them 
Romans, and they became his soldiers. Augustus showed 
himself to the legions who fought at Actium, and the majesty 
of his countenance awed them to obedience. The distance 
between myself and these illustrious characters, 1 know is 
great ; and vet, descended from them, with their blood in my 
veins, I should resent with indignation a parallel outrage from 
the soldiers of Syria, or of Spain : and will you, ye men of the 
first legion, who received your colors from the hand of Tiberius ; 
and you, ye men of the twentieth, his fellow warriors in the 
field, his companions in so many victories, will you thus requite 
him for all the favors so graciously bestowed upon you 1 From 
every other quarter of the empire, Tiberius has received nothing 
but joyful tidings ; and must I wound his ear with the news of 
your revolt 1 Must he hear from me, that neither the soldiers 
raised by himself, nor the veterans who fought under him, are 
willing to own his authority ? Must he be told that neither 
dismissions from the service, nor money lavishly granted, can 
appease the fury of ungrateful men ? Must I inform him, that 
here centurions are murdered ; that, in this camp, the tribunes 
are driven from their post ; that here the ambassadors of Rome 
are detained as prisoners ? That the entrenchments present a 
scene of slaughter ; that rivers are discolored with our blood ; 
and that a Roman general leads a precarious life, at the mercy 
of men inflamed with an epidemic madness 1 

Why, the other day, when I endeavored to address you, why 
was the sword which I aimed at my breast, why in that mo- 
ment was it wrested from me ? Oh ! my mistaken friends ! 
the man who presented his sword dealt more kindly by me. I 
could then have closed my eyes in peace. I should not ha^9 



190 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

lived to see the disgrace of the legions, and all the horrors that 
followed. After my death you would have chosen another 
general, regardless, indeed* of my unhappy lot, but still of spirit 
to revenge the massacre of Varus and his three legions. May 
that revenge be still reserved for the Roman sword ; and may 
the gods withhold from the Belgic states, though now they 
court the opportunity, the vast renown of vindicating the Roman 
name, and humbling the pride of the German nations ! and may 
thy departed spirit, adored Augustus ! who now art ranked 
amongst the gods ; and may thy image, Drusus, my ever hon- 
ored father ! may thy memory inspire these unhappy men, whom 
I now see touched with remorse ! May your active energy blot 
out the disgrace that sits heavy upon them ; and may the rage 
of civil discord discharge itself on the enemies of Rome ! And 
you, my fellow-soldiers ! whom I behold with altered looks, 
whose hearts begin to melt with sorrow and repentance, if yon 
mean to preserve the ambassadors of the senate,— if you intend 
to remain faithful to your prince, and to restore my wife and 
children, — detach yourselves at once from the contagion of 
guilty men ; withdraw from the seditious ; that act will be a 
proof of your remorse, an earnest of returning virtue. 



16. HANNIBAL TO THE CARTHAGINIAN ARMY. 

I know not, soldiers, whether you or your prisoners be en- 
compassed by fortune with the stricter bonds and necessities. 
Two seas inclose you on the right and left ; not a ship to fly to 
for escaping. Before you is the Po, a river broader and more 
rapid than the Rhone : behind you are the Alps ; over whi'ch, 
even when your numbers were undiminished, you were hardly 
able to force a passage. Here, then, soldiers, you must either 
conquer or die, the very first hour you meet the enemy. 

But the same fortune which has thus laid you under the ne- 
cessity of fighting, has set before your eyes the most glorious 
rewards of victory. Should we, by our valor, recover only Si- 
cily and Sardinia, which were ravished from our fathers, those 
would be no inconsiderable prizes. Yet, what are those ? The 
wealth of Rome ; whatever riches she has heaped together in 
the spoils of nations ; all these with the masters of them, will 
be yours. The time is now come to reap the full recompense 
of your toilsome marches, over so many mountains and rivers, 
and through so many nations, all of them in arms. This is the 
place which fortune has appointed to be the limits of your 



ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 191 

taboi ; it is here that you will finish your glorious warfare, and 
receive an ample recompense of your completed service. For 
I would not have you imagine, that victory will be as difficult 
as the name of a Roman war is great and sounding. It has 
often happened, that a despised enemy has given a bloody battle ; 
and the most renowned kings and nations have by a small force 
6een overthrown. And, if you but take away the glitter of the 
Roman name, and what is there wherein they may stand in 
competition with you ! For, (to say nothing of your service in 
war, for twenty years together, with so much valor and success) 
from the very pillars of Hercules, from the ocean, from the 
utmost bounds of the earth, through so many warlike nations 
of Spain and Gaul, are you not come hither victorious 1 And 
with whom are you now to fight ? With raw soldiers ; and an 
undisciplined army, beaten, vanquished, besieged by the Gauls 
the very last summer ; an army unknown to their leader, and 
unacquainted with him. 

Or shall I, who w r as bom, I might almost say, but certainly 
brought up in the tent of my father, that most excellent general ; 
shall I, the conqueror of Spain and Gaul, and not only of the 
Alpine nations, but, which is greater still, of the Alps them- 
selves ; shall I compare myself with this half-year captain ? a 
captain, before whom should one place the two armies without 
their ensigns, I am persuaded he would not know to which of 
them he is consul. I esteem it no small advantage, soldiers, 
that there is not one among you who has not often been an eye* 
witness of my exploits in war ; not one of whose valor I myself 
have not been a spectator, so as to be able to name the time 
and places of his noble achievements ; that with soldiers, whom 
I have a thousand times praised and rewarded, and whose 
pupil I was before I became their general, I shall march against 
an army of men strangers to one another. 

On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all full of cour- 
age and strength. A veteran infantry ; a most gallant cavalry : 
you, my allies most faithful and valiant ; you Carthaginians, 
whom not only your country's cause, but the justest anger im* 
pels to battle. The hope, the courage of assailants, is always 
greater than of those who act upon the defensive. With hos* 
tile banners displayed, you are come down upon Italy : you 
bring the war. Grief, injuries, indignities, fire your minds, and 
spur you forward to revenge. First, they demanded me, that I 
your general, should be delivered up to them ; next of all you 
who had fought at the siege of Saguntum : and we were to be 
put to death by the extremest tortuies. Proud and cruel nation ! 
Every thing must be yours, and at your disposal. You are to 



192 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

prescribe to us with whom we shall make war, with whom we 
shall make peace. You are to set us bounds ; to shut us up 
within hills and rivers ; but you, you are not to observe the lim- 
its which yourselves have fixed ! " Pass not the Iberus." What 
next 1 " Touch not the Saguntines ; Saguntum is upon the 
Iberus, move not a step towards that city." Is it a small matter 
then, that you have deprived us of our ancient possessions, 
Sicily, and Sardinia ? you would have Spain too. Well ; we 
shall yield Spain, and then — you will pass into Africa. — Will 
pass, did I say? — this very year they ordered one of their con- 
suls into Africa, the other into Spain. No ; soldiers ; there is 
nothing left for us but what we can vindicate with our swords. 
Come on, then. Be men. The Romans may, with more safety, 
be cowards : they have their own country behind them, have 
places of refuge to fly to, and are secure from danger in the 
roads thither ; but, for you, there is no middle fortune between 
death and victory. Let this be but well fixed in your minds : 
and once again, I say you are conquerors. 



17. SCIPIO TO THE ROMAN ARMY. 

Were you, soldiers, the same army which I had with me in 
Gaul, I might well forbear saying any thing to you at this time : 
for what occasion could there be to use exhortation to a cavalry 
that had so signally vanquished the squadrons of the enemy 
upon the Rhone ; or to legions, by whom that same enemy, 
flying before them to avoid a battle, did in effect confess them- 
selves conquered ? But as these troops, having been enrolled 
for Spain, are there with my brother Cneus, making war under 
my auspices, (as was the will of the senate and people of Rome,) 
I, that you might have a consul for your captain against Han- 
nibal and the Carthaginians, have freely offered myself for this 
war. You, then, have a new general, and I a new army. On 
this account, a few w r ords from me to you will be neither im- 
proper nor unseasonable. 

That you may not be unapprised of what sort of enemies you 
are going to encounter, or what is to be feared from them, they 
are the very same, whom in a former war you vanquished both 
by land and sea : the same from whom you took Sicily and 
Sardinia, and who have been these twenty years your tributa 
rles. You will not, I presume, march against these men with 
only that courage with which you are wont to face other ene- 
mies ! but with a certain anger and indignation, such as you 



ANCIENT ELOQUENCE I 9»> 

would feel if you saw your slaves on a sudden rise up in arms 
against you. Conquered and enslaved, it is not boldness, but 
necessity, that urges them to battle ; unless you can believe 
that those who avoided fighting when their army was entire, 
have acquired better hope by the loss of two-thirds of their 
horse and foot in the passage of the Alps. 

But you have heard, perhaps, that though they are few in 
number, they are men of stout hearts and robust bodies ; heroes 
of such strength and vigor, as nothing is able to resist. — Mere 
effigies ! Nay, shadows of men ; wretches emaciated with hun*- 
ger and benumbed with cold ! bruised and battered to pieces 
among the rocks and craggy cliffs ! — their weapons broken, and 
their horses weak and foundered ! Such are the cavalry, and 
such the infantry, with which you are going to contend ; not 
enemies, but the fragments of enemies. There is nothing 
which I more apprehend, than that it will be thought Hannibal 
was vanquished by the Alps before we had any conflict with 
him. But, perhaps it was fitting it should be so ; and that with 
a people and a leader who had violated leagues and covenants, 
the gods themselves, without man's help, should begin the war, 
and bring it to a near conclusion ; and that we, who next to 
the gods have been injured and offended^ should happily finish 
what they have begun. 

I need not be in any fear, that you should suspect me of 
saying these things merely to encourage you, while inwardly I 
have different sentiments. What hindered me from going into 
Spain 1 That was my province, where I should have had the 
less dreaded Asdrubal, not Hannibal, to deal with. But, heart- 
ing, as I passed along the coast of Gaul, of this enemy's march* 
I landed my troops, sent my horse forward, and pitched my camp 
upon the Rhone. A part of my cavalry encountered and de- 
feated that of the enemy. My infantry not being able to over* 
take theirs, which fled before us, I returned to my fleet ; and 
with all the expedition I could use in so long a voyage by sea 
and land, am come to meet them at the foot of the Alps. Was 
it, then, my inclkiation to avoid a contest with this tremendous 
Hannibal? and have I met with him only by accident and 
unawares 1 or am I come on purpose to challenge him to the 
combat ? I would gladly try, whether the earth, within these 
twenty years, has brought forth a new kind of Carthaginians ; 
or whether they be the same sort of men who fought at the 
JEgsXes, and whom at Eryx, you suffered to redeem themselves 
at eighteen denarii per head : whether this Hannibal, for labors 
and journies, be, as he would be thought, the rival of Hercules; 
or whether he be, what his father left him, a tributary, a vassal, 

17 



194 UNITED STATES SPEAKEK. 

a slave of the Roman people. Did not the consciousness of 
his wicked deed at Saguntum torment him and make him des- 
perate, he would have some regard, if not to his conquered 
country, yet surely to his own family, to his father's memory, 
to the treaty written with Amilcar's own hand. We might 
have starved him in Eryx ; we might have passed into Africa 
with our victorious fleet, and in a few days have destroyed Car- 
thage. At their humble supplication we pardoned them ; we 
released them, when they were closely shut up without a pos- 
sibility of escaping ; we made peace with them when they were 
conquered. When they were distressed by the African war, 
we considered them, we treated them as a people under our 
protection. And what is the return they make us for all these 
favors ? Under the conduct of a hairbrained young man, they 
come hither to overrun our state, and lay waste our coimtry. — I 
could wish, indeed, that it were not so ; and that the war we 
are now engaged in, concerned only our own glory, and not our 
preservation. But the contest at present, is not for the posses- 
sion of Sicily and Sardinia, but of Italy herself: nor is there 
behind us another army, which, if we should not prove the con- 
querors, may make head against our victorious enemies. There 
are no more Alps for them to pass, which might give us leisure 
to raise new forces. No, soldiers ; here you must take yom 
stand, as if you were just now before the walls of Rome. Let 
every one reflect, that he is now to defend, not his own person 
only, but his wife, his children, his helpless infants. Yet, let 
not private considerations alone possess our minds : let us 
remember that the eyes of the senate and people of Rome ar6 
upon us : and that, as our force and courage shall now prove, 
such will be the fortune of that city and of the Roman empire 



18. ADHERBAL AGAINST THE VIOLENCE OF JUGURTHA. 

Fathers, — It is known to you that king Micipsa, my father, 
on his death-bed, left in charge to Jugurtha, his adopted son, 
conjunctly with my unfortunate brother Hiempsal, and myself, 
the children of his own body, the administration of the king- 
dom of Numidia ; directing us to consider the senate and people 
of Rome, as proprietors of it. He charged us to use our best 
endeavors to be serviceable to the Roman commonwealth, in 
peace and war ; assuring us, that your protection would prove, 
to us, a defense against all enemies, and would be instead of 



ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 193 

armies, fortifications and treasures. While my brother and I 
were thinking of nothing but how to regulate ourselves accord- 
ing to the directions of our deceased father ; — Jugurtha, — the 
most infamous of mankind ! — breaking through all ties of grati- 
tude, and of common humanity, and trampling on the authority 
of the Roman commonwealth, procured the murder of my un- 
fortunate brother, and has driven me from my throne, and native 
country, though he knows I inherit, from my grandfather Masi- 
nissa, and my father Micipsa, the friendship and alliance of the 
Romans. For a prince to be reduced, by villany, to my dis- 
tressful circumstances, is calamity enough ; but my misfortunes 
are heightened by the consideration, that I find myself obliged 
to solicit your assistance, fathers, for the services done you by 
my ancestors ; not for any I have been able to render you 
in my own person. Jugurtha has put it out of my power to 
deserve any thing at your hands, and has forced me to be bur- 
densome before I could be useful to you. And yet, if I had no 
plea but my undeserved misery, who, from a powerful prince, 
the descendant of a race of illustrious monarchs, find myself, 
without any fault of my own, destitute of every support, and 
reduced to the necessity of begging foreign assistance, against 
an enemy who has seized my throne and kingdom ; if my un- 
equaled distresses were all I had to plead, it would become 
the greatness of the Roman commonwealth, the arbitress of 
the world, to protect the injured, and to check the triumph of 
daring wickedness over helpless innocence. But to provoke 
your vengeance to the utmost, Jugurtha has driven me from the 
very dominions which the senate and people of Rome gave to 
my ancestors, and from whence my grandfather, and my father, 
under your umbrage, expelled Syphax and the Carthaginians. 
Thus, fathers, your kindness to our family is defeated, and 
Jugurtha in injuring me throws contempt on you. 

Oh wretched prince ! Oh cruel reverse of fortune ! Oh father 
Micipsa ! Is this the consequence of your generosity ; that he 
whom your goodness raised to an equality with your own chil- 
dren, should be the murderer of your children ! Must, then, the 
royal house of Numidia always be a scene of havoc and blood ? 
While Carthage remained, we suffered, as was to be expected, 
all sorts of hardships from their hostile attacks ; our enemy 
near ; our only powerful ally, the Roman commonwealth, at a 
distance ; while we were so circumstanced, we were always in 
arms and in action. When that scourge of Africa was no more, 
we congratulated ourselves on the prospect of established peace. 
But instead of peace, behold the kingdom of Numidia drenched 
with royal blood, and the only surviving son of its late king 



196 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

flying from an adopted murderer, and seeking that safety in 
foreign parts which he cannot command in his own kingdom. 

Whither — Oh whither shall I fly ? If I return to the royal 
palace of my ancestors, my fathers throne is seized by the 
murderer of my brother. What can I there expect but that 
Jugurtha should hasten to imbrue in my blood, those hands 
which are now reeking with my brother's ? If I were to fly 
for refuge or for assistance to any other court, from what prince 
can I hope for protection, if the Roman commonwealth gives 
me up 1 ' From my own family or friends, I have no expecta- 
tions. My royal father is no more. He is beyond the reach 
of violence, and out of hearing of the complaints of his unhappy 
son. Were my brother alive, our mutual sympathy would be 
some alleviation. But he is hurried out of life in his early 
youth, by the very hand which should have been the last to 
injure any of the royal family of Numidia. The bloody Jugur- 
tha has butchered all whom he suspected to be in my interest. 
Some have been destroyed by the lingering torment of the 
cross : others have been given a prey to wild beasts, and their 
anguish made the sport of men more cruel than wild beasts. 
If there be any yet alive, they are shut up in dungeons, there 
to drag out a life more intolerable than death. 

Look down, illustrious senators of Rome, from that height of 
power to which you are raised, on the unexampled distresses 
of a prince, who is, by the cruelty of a wicked intruder, become 
an outcast from all mankind. Let not the crafty insinuations 
of him who returns murder for adoption, prejudice your judg- 
ment. Do not listen to the wretch who has butchered the son 
and relations of a king who gave him power to sit on the same 
throne with his own sons. I have been informed that he 
labors by his emissaries, to prevent your determining any thing 
against him in his absence, pretending that I magnify my dis- 
tress, and might, for him, have staid in peace in my own king- 
dom, But, if ever the time comes, when the due vengeance 
from above shall overtake him, he will then dissemble in the 
very same manner as I do. Then he, who now hardened in 
wickedness triumphs over those whom his violence has laid 
low, will, in his turn, feel distress, and suffer for his impious 
ingratitude to my father, and his bloodthirsty cruelty to my 
brother ! 

Oh murdered, butchered brother ! Oh dearest to my heart — 
now gone for ever from my sight. — But why should I lament his 
death ? He is indeed deprived of the blessed light of heaven, 
of life, and kingdom, at once, by the very person who ought to 
have been the first to hazard his own life in defense of any one 



ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 197 

of Micipsa's family ; but, as things are, my brother is not so 
much deprived of these comforts, as delivered from terror, from 
flight, from exile, and the endless train of miseries which render 
life to me a burden. He lies full low, gored with wounds, and 
festering in his own blood. But he lies in peace. He feels 
none of the miseries which rend my soul with agony and dis- 
traction ; whilst I am set up a spectacle to all mankind of the 
uncertainty of human affairs. So far from having it in my 
power to avenge his death, I am not master of the means of 
securing my own life. So far from being in a condition to 
defend my kingdom from the violence of the usurper, I am 
obliged to apply for foreign protection for my own person. 

Fathers ! Senators of Rome, the arbiters of the world! To 
you I fly for refuge from the murderous fury of Jugurtha. By 
your afYecti'on for your children ; by your love for your country ; 
by your own virtues ; by the majesty of the Roman common- 
wealth ; by all that is sacred and all that is dear to you, deliver 
a wretched prince from undeserved, unprovoked injury ; and 
save the kingdom of Numidia, which is your own property, 
from being the piey of violence, usurpation, and cruelty. 



19. jESCHINES AGAINST DEMOSTHENES. 

Our city is scandalized on account of the measures of De- 
mosthenes. And you will appear, if you should crown him, to 
be of the same mind with those who are violating the common 
peace ; but if you act contrawise, you will acquit the people 
of the charge. 

Do you therefore deliberate, not as on behalf of a foreign 
country, but your own, and do not distribute your honors as of 
course, but discriminate, and set apart your rewards for more 
worthy persons and men of better account. And make use not 
J>f your ears only, when you consult, but of your eyes, looking 
round amongst each other, to see what manner of persons they 
are, who are about to come forward in support of Demosthenes; 
—whether his partners in the chase, or companions in exer- 
cises during his youth. But no, — by the Olympian Jupiter ! — he 
has not been in the habit of hunting the wild boar, or attending 
to graces of the body, but he has been constantly practising 
arts to rob the wealthy of their estates. Bear also in mind his 
boastfulness, when he asserts, that he rescued Byzantium out 
of the gripe of Philip as ambassador, and drew off the Acar- 
nanians from his cause, and roused the Thebans by his ha* 

17* 



1 9$ UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

rangues. For he supposes that you are arrived at such a pitch 
of simplicity as to be gulled into a belief of all this as if you 
Were cherishing amongst you, not a vagabond of a common irl- 
former, but the goddess of persuasion herself. 

But when, at the conclusion of his speech, he shall call be- 
fore you, as advocates, the partakers of his bribes, believe that 
you see, upon this rostrum, where I am now standing to ad- 
dress you, drawn up in array against their effrontery, the great 
benefactors of their country — Solon, who adorned the democ 
racy with the most excellent laws, — a wise man, a good law- 
giver, mildly, as befitted him, entreating you not to make the 
speeches of Demosthenes of more avail than your oaths and 
the laws ; — Aristides, too, who settled their contributions for 
the Greeks, and upon whose death the people portioned hia 
daughters, demanding, if you are not ashamed that your ances- 
tors were upon the very point of putting to death Arthmius of 
Eelia 3 who brought the money of the Persians into Greece, and 
journeyed into our city, being then a public guest of the people 
of Athens, and did expel him from the city and all the depend- 
encies of the Athenians, — and that you are about to crown 
Demosthenes, who did not bring the money of the Persians into 
Greece, but himself received bribes, and moreover even now 
retains them, with a golden crown ! Do you not imagine that 
Themistocles also, and those who fell at Marathon and at 
Plataea, and the very tombs of our ancestors, will raise a groan, 
if this man, who, avowedly siding with barbarians* opposed 
the Greeks, shall be crowned 1 

" I then, — I call you to witness, ye earth and sun ! — and 
Virtue, and intellect, and education, by which we distinguish 
what is honorable from what is base,— have given my help and 
have spoken. And if I have conducted the accusation ade- 
quately, and in a manner worthy of the transgression of the 
laws, I have spoken as I wished ;^-if imperfectly, then only as 
I have been able. But do you, both from what has been said, 
and what has been omitted, of yourselves, decide as is just and 
convenient on behalf of the country." 



20. DEMOSTHENES TO THE ATHENIANS. 

When I compare, Athenians, the speeches of some amongst 
us with their actions, I am at a loss to reconcile what I see 
with what I hear. Their protestations are full of zeal against 
the public enemy ; but theii measures are so inconsistent, that 



ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 199 

all their professions become suspected. By confounding yon 
with a variety of projects, they perplex your resolutions ; and 
lead you from executing what is in your power, by engaging 
you in schemes not reducible to practice. 

Tis true, there was a time when we were powerful enough, 
not only to defend our own borders, and protect our allies, but 
even to invade Philip in his own dominions. Yes, Athenians, 
there was such a conjuncture ; I remember it well. But b^ 
neglect of proper opportunities, we are no longer in a situation 
to be invaders ; it will be well for us, if we can provide for oui 
own defense, and our allies. Never did any conjuncture require 
so much prudence as this. However, I should not despair 
of seasonable remedies, had I the art to prevail with you to 
be unanimous in right measures. The opportunities which 
have so often escaped us, have not been lost through ignorance 
or want of judgment, but through negligence or treachery. If 
I assume, at this time, more than ordinary liberty of speech, 1 
conjure you to suffer patiently those truths which have no other 
end but your own good. You have too many reasons to be 
sensible how much you have suffered by hearkening to syco- 
phants. I shall, therefore, be plain in laying before you the 
grounds of past miscarriages, in order to correct you in your 
future conduct. 

You may remember, it is not above three or four years since 
we had the news of Philip's laying siege to the fortress of Juno, 
in Thrace. It was, as I think, in October, we received this 
intelligence. We voted an immediate supply of threescore tal- 
ents ; forty men-of-war were ordered to sea ; and so zealous 
were we, that preferring the necessities of the state to our very 
laws, our citizens above the age of five-and-forty years were 
commanded to serve. What followed? — A whole year was 
spent idly without any thing done ; and it was but in the third 
month of the following year, a little after the celebration of the 
feast of Ceres, that Charidemus set sail, furnished with no 
more than five talents, and ten galleys not half manned. 

A rumor was spread, that Philip was sick. That rumor was 
followed by another, that Philip was dead. And then, as if ah 
danger died with him, you dropped your preparations : whereas, 
then was your time to push and be active ; then was your time 
to secure yourselves, and confound him at once. Had your 
resolutions, taken with so much heat, been as warmly seconded 
by action, you had then been as terrible to Philip, as Philip, 
recovered, is now to you. — " To what purpose, at this time, 
these reflections ? What is done, cannot be undone." — But. 
by your leave, Athenians, though past moments are not to be 



200 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

recalled, past errors may be repeated. Have we not now a 
fresh provocation to war 1 Let the memory of oversights, by 
which you have suffered so much, instruct you to be more 
vigilant in the present danger. If the Olynthians are not 
instantly succored, and with your utmost efforts, you become 
assistants to Philip, and serve him more effectually than he caa 
help himself. 

It is not, surely, necessary to warn you, that votes alone caf 
be of no consequence. Had your resolutions, of themselves; 
the virtue to compass what you intend, we should not see them 
multiply every day as they do, and upon every occasion, with 
so little effect ; nor would Philip be in a condition to brave and 
affront us in this manner. Proceed then, Athenians, to support 
your deliberations with vigor. You have heads capable of 
advising what is best ; you have judgment and experience to 
discern what is right ; and you have power and opportunity to 
execute what you determine. What time so proper for action ? 
What occasion so happy ? And when can you hope for such 
another, if this be neglected ? Has not Philip, contrary to all 
treaties, insulted you in Thrace ! Does he not, at this instant, 
straiten and invade your confederates, whom you have solemnly 
sworn to protect ? Is he not an implacable enemy ? A faith- 
less ally ? The usurper of provinces, to which he has no title 
nor pretence ? A stranger, a barbarian, a tyrant. And, indeed, 
what is he not ? 

Observe, I beseech you, men of Athens, how different your 
conduct appears, from the practice of your ancestors. They 
were friends to truth and plain dealing, and detested flattery 
and servile compliance. By unanimous consent, they contin- 
ued arbiters of all Greece, for the space of forty-five years, 
without interruption : a public fund, of no less than ten thousand 
talents, was ready for any emergency : they exercised over the 
kings of Mace don that authority which is due to barbarians ; 
obtained, both by sea and land, in their own persons, frequent 
and signal victories ; and, by their noble exploits, transmitted 
to posterity an immortal metiory of their virtue, superior to 
the reach of malice and detraction. It is to them we owe that 
great number of public edifices, by which the city of Athens 
exceeds all the rest of the world, in beauty and magnificence. 
It is to them we owe so many stately temples, so richly embel- 
lished ; but, above all, adorned with the spoils of vanquished 
enemies. — But, visit their own private habitations ; visit the 
houses of Aristides, Miltiades, or any other of those patriots 
of antiquity ; — you will find nothing, not the least mark or or- 
nament, to distinguish them from their neighbors. They took 



ANCIENT ELOQUENCE. 201 

part in the government, not to enrich themselves, but the pub- 
lic ; they had no scheme or ambition, but for the public ; nor 
knew any interest, but the public. It was by a close and steady 
application to the general good of their country, by an exem- 
plary piety towards the immortal gods, by a strict faith and re- 
ligious honesty betwixt man and man, and a moderation always 
uniform and of a piece, they established that reputation, which 
remains to this day, and will last to utmost posterity. 

Such, Oh men of Athens ! were your ancestors : so glorious 
in the eye of the world ; so bountiful and munificent to their 
country ; so sparing, so modest, so self-denying to themselves. 
What resemblance can we find, in the present generation, of 
these great men ? At a time when your ancient competitors 
have left you a clear stage ; when the Lacedemonians are dis- 
abled ; the Thebans employed in troubles of their own ; when 
no other state whatever is in a condition to rival or molest you ; 
in short, when you are at full liberty ; when you have the oppor- 
tunity and the power to become once more the sole arbiters of 
Greece ; you permit, patiently, whole provinces to be wrested 
from you ; you lavish the public money in scandalous and 
obscure uses ; you suffer your allies to perish in time of peace, 
whom you preserved in time of war ; and to sum up all, you 
yourselves, by your mercenary court, and servile resignation 
to the will and pleasure of designing, insidious leaders, abet, en- 
courage, and strengthen the most dangerous and formidable of 
your enemies. Yes, Athenians, I repeat it, you yourselves are 
the contrivers of your own ruin. Lives there a man who has 
confidence enough to deny it ? let him arise, and assign, if he 
can, any other cause of the success and prosperity of Philip. — 
" But," you reply, " what Athens may have lost in reputation 
abroad, she has gained in splendor at home. Was there ever 
a greater appearance of prosperity ; a greater face of plenty ? 
Is not the city enlarged ? Are not the streets better paved, 
houses repaired and beautified?" — Away with such trifles! 
Shall I be paid with counters ? An old square new vamped 
up ! a fountain ! an aqueduct 1 Are these acquisitions to brag 
of"? Cast your eye upon the magistrate, under whose ministry 
you boast these precious improvements. Behold the despicable 
creature, raised, all at once, from dirt to opulence : from the 
lowest obscurity to the highest honors. Have not some of the 
upstarts built private houses and seats vying with the most 
sumptuous of our public paLaces 1 And how have their fortunes 
and their power increased, but as the commonwealth has been 
ruined and impoverished ! 

To what are we to impute these disorders ; and to what 



202 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

cause assign the decay of a state so powerful and flourishing 
in times past? — The reason is plain. The servant is now 
become the master. The magistrate was then subservient to 
the people ; all honors, dignities, and preferments, were dis- 
posed by the voice and favor of the people : but the magistrate, 
now, has usurped the right of the people : and exercises an ar- 
bitrary authority over his ancient and natural lord. You mis- 
erable people ! (the meanwhile, without money, without friends) 
from being the ruler are become the servant ; from being the 
master, the dependent ; happy that these governors, into whose 
hands you have resigned your power, are so good and so gra- 
cious as to continue your poor allowance to see plays. 

Believe me, Athenians, if recovering from this lethargy, you 
would assume the ancient freedom and spirit of your fathers ; 
if you would be your own soldiers and your own commanders, 
confiding no longer your affairs in foreign and mercenary hands ; 
if you would charge yourselves with your own defense, employ- 
ing abroad, for the public, what you waste in unprofitable pleas- 
ures at home ; the world might, once more, behold you making 
a figure worthy of Athenians. — "You would have us then (you 
say) do service in our armies, in our persons ; and for so doing, 
you would have the pensions we receive in time of peace, ac- 
cepted as pay in time of war. Is it thus we are to understand 
you ?" — Yes, Athenians, 'tis my plain meaning. I would make 
it a standing rule, that no person, great or little, should be the 
better for the public money, who should grudge to employ it 
for the public service. Are we in peace? the public is charged 
with your subsistence. Are we in war, or under a necessity, 
as at this time, to enter into a war ? let your gratitude oblige 
you to accept, as pay, in defense of your benefactors, what you 
receive in peace as mere bounty. — Thus, without any innova- 
tion; without altering or abolishing any thing, but pernicious 
novelties introduced for the encouragement of sloth and idle- 
ness ; by converting only, for the future, the same funds, for the 
use of the serviceable, which are spent, at present, upon the 
unprofitable ; you may be well served in your armies ; your 
troops regularly paid ; justice duly administered ; the public 
revenues reformed and increased ; and every member of the 
commonwealth rendered useful to his country, according to 
his age and ability, without any further burden to the state. 

This, Oh men of Athens ! is what my duty prompted me to 
represent to you upon this occasion. — May the gods inspire 
you to determine upon such measures, as may be most expe- 
dient, for the particular and general good of our country! 



PART SECOND. 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 



1. science and religion. Sigourney. 

What gives the mind its latent strength to scan, 
And chains brute instinct at the feet of man — 
Bids the wild comet, in its path of flame, 
Compute its periods and declare its name — 
With deathless radiance decks historic page, 
And wakes the treasures of a buried age ? 
Majestic science from his cloistered shrine, 
Heard, and replied — " this godlike power is mine." 
" Oh then," said man, " my troubled spirit lead, 
Which feels its weakness and deplores its need. 
Come, and the shadowy vale of death illume, 
Show sin a pardon, and disarm the tomb." 
High o'er his ponderous tomes his hand he raised, 
His proud brow kindling as the supplian gazed. 
" With ignorance I war and hoary time, 
Who wreck with vandal rage my works sublime — 
What can I more, dismiss your idle pain, 
Your search is fruitless and your labor vain." 
But from the cell where long she dwelt apart, 
Her silent temple in the contrite heart, 
Religion came, and where proud science failed, 
She bent her knee to earth, and with her sire prevailed. 



'look not upon the wine when it is rei." — Willi* 

Look not upon the wine when it 

Is red within the cup ! 
Stay not for pleasure when she fills 

Her tempting beaker up ! 



204 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Though clear its depths, and rich its glow, 
A spell of madness lurks below. 

They say 'tis pleasant on the lip, 

And merry on the brain ; 
They say it stirs the sluggish blood. 

And dulls the tooth of pain. 
Ay — but within its glowing deeps 
A stinging serpent, unseen, sleeps. 

Its rosy lights will turn to fire, 
Its coolness change to thirst ; 

And, by its mirth, within the brain 
A sleepless worm is nursed. 

There's not a bubble at the brim 

That does not carry food for him. 

Then dash the brimming cup aside, 

And spill its purple wine ; 
Take not its madness to thy lip — 

Let not its curse be thine. 
'Tis red and rich — but grief and wo 
Are hid those rosy depths below. 



catiline's reply to the charges of cicero. — Croly 

-Conscript fathers ! 



I do not rise to waste the night in words ; 

Let that plebeian talk ; 'tis not my trade ; 

But here I stand for right — let him show proofs ; 

For Roman right ; though none, it seems, dare stand 

To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there, 

Cling to your masters ; judges, Romans — slaves ! 

His charge is false ; I dare him to his proofs ; 

You have my answer : * * *— let my actions speak. 

But this I will avow, that I have scorned 

And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong ■ 

Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword, 

Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 

Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts 

The gates of honor on me,— turning out 

The Roman from his birthright ; and for what ? 

To fling your offices to every slave ; — {Looking round him.) 



DIDACTIC ANE RHETORICAL. 205 

Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb ; 
And having wound their lothsome track to the top 
Of this huge moldering monument of Rome, 

Hang hissing at the nobler man below. 

Come, consecrated lictors ! from your thrones ; 

( To the senUU ) 
Fling down your sceptres ;— take the rod and axe, 
And make the murder, as you make the law. 



4. fire. — Anonymous. 

What is it that shoots from the mountains so high, 

In many a beautiful spire ? 
What is it that blazes and curls to the sky? 

This beautiful something is — fire. 

Loud noises are heard in the caverns to groan, 

Hot cinders fall thicker than snow, 
Huge stones to a wonderful distance are thrown, 

For burning fire rages below. 

When winter blows bleak, and loud bellows the storm, 

And frostily twinkle the stars ; 
Then bright burns the fire in the chimney so warm, 

And the kettle sings shrill on the bars. 

Then call in the poor traveler, covered with snow, 

And warm him with charity kind ; 
Fire is not so warm as the feelings that glow 

In the friendly, benevolent mind. 

By fire rugged metals are fitted for use ; 

Iron, copper, gold, silver, and tin ; 
Without its assistance we could not produce 

So much as a — minikin pin. 

Fire rages with fury wherever it comes , 

If only one spark should be dropt, 
"Whole houses or cities, sometimes it consumes 

Where its violence cannot be stopt. 

And when the great morning of judgment shall rise, 

How wide will its blazes be curled ! 
With heat, fervent heat, it shall melt down the skies, 

And burn up this beautiful world. 



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5. the warning. — Anonymous. 

The fly around the candle wheels, 

Enjoys the sport, and gaily sings, 
Till nearer, nearer drawn, he feels 

The flame like lightning, singe his wings ; 
Then weltering in the pool, beneath he lies, 
And. limb by limb, scorched miserably, dies. 

From bough to bough the wild bird hops, 
Where late he caroled blithe and free ; 

Now downward, downward, lo ! he drops — 
Faint, fluttering, helpless, from the tree ; 

While, stretched below with eye of deadly ray, 

The eager rattlesnake expects his prey. 

Thou, child of pleasure, art the fly 

Caught with a taper's dazzling glare ; 
Thou art the bird, that meets an eye 

Alluring to the serpent's snare : 
Oh ! stay ; — is reason fled ? — is conscience dumb ? 
Be wise — be warned, — escape the wrath to come. 

Not swifter o'er the level course 

The racer glances to the goal, 
Than thou with blind and headlong force, 

Art running on — to lose thy soul : — 
Then, though thou win the world, how dear the cost ! 
Can the whole world avail a spirit lost ? 



6. death. — Cunningham. 

Fleet are the rapid moments ! fly they must ; 

Not to be stayed by masque or midnight roar ! 
Nor shall a pulse, among that moldering dust, 

Beat wanton at the smiles of beauty more ! 

Can the deep statesman, skilled in great design, 
Protract but for a day precarious breath ? 

Or the tuned follower of the sacred nine 
Soothe, with his melody, insatiate death ? 

No : — though the palace bar her golden gate, 
Or monarchs plant ten thousand guards around. 

Unerring, and unseen, the shaft of fate 
Strikes the devoted victim to the ground ' 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 207 

What then avails ambition's wide-stretched wing, 
The schoolman's page, or pride of beauty's bloom! 

The crape-clad hermit, and the rich-robed king, 
Leveled, lie mixed promiscuous in the tomb. 

The Macedonian monarch, wise and good, 
Bade, when the morning's rosy reign began, 

Courtiers should call, as round his couch they stood, 
" Philip ! remember, thou'rt no more than man : 

Though glory spread thy name from pole to pole I 
Though thou art merciful, and brave, and just ; 

Philip, reflect, thou'rt posting to the goal, 

Where mortals mix in undistinguished dust !" 



7. THE DYING HORSE. Blacltett. 

Heaven ! what enormous strength does death possess f 

How muscular the giant's arm must be 

To gn.sp that strong-boned horse, and, spite of all 

His furious efforts, fix him to the earth ! 

His writhing fibres speak his inward pain, 

His smoking nostrils speak his inward fire ! 

Oh ! how he glares ! — and hark ! methinks 1 hear 

His bubbling blood, which seems to burst the veins ; 

How still he's now ; — how fiery hot, — how cold ! 

How terrible, — how lifeless ! — all within 

A few brief moments ! my reason staggers ! 

Philosophy, thou poor enlightened dotard, 

W T ho canst assign for every thing a cause, 

Here take thy stand beside me, and explain 

This hidden mystery. Bring with thee 

The headstrong atheist, who laughs at heaven, 

And impiously ascribes events to chance, 

To help to solve this wonderful enigma ! 

First, tell me, ye proud haughty reasoners, 

Where the vast strength this creature late possessed 

Has fled to ? How the bright sparkling fire, 

Which flashed but now from these dim rayless eyes, 

Has been extinguished — Oh, he's dead ! you say- — 

I know it well : — but how, and by what means ? 

What ! — not a word ! — I ask you once again ; 

How comes it that the wondrous essence, 

Which gave such vigor to those strong-nerved limbs, 

Has leapt from its enclosure, and compelled 



20& UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

This noble workmanship of nature thus 

To sink into a cold inactive clod ? 

Nay sneak not off thus cowardly ! — Poor fools, 

Ye are as destitute of information 

As is the lifeless subject of my thoughts ! 

Now, moralizer, 
Retire ! yet first proclaim this sacred truth : 
Chance rules not over death : but when a fly 
F^lls to the earth, 'tis heaven that gives the blow. 



8. to-morrow. — Anonymous. 

Who says " To-morrow still is mkie ?* 

As if his eye could peer 
Through the thick mists of future time, 

And trace out life's career : 
To-morrow ! stranger, it may bo 
A phantom never grasped by thee. 

How canst thou tell to-morrow's sun 

Shall s'hine around thy path 1 
Thy mortal work may then be done, 

And thou mayst sleep in death. 
Oh ! say not then, " To-morrow's mine"-— 
The present hour alone is thine. 

Hast thou not seen the eager child 

The butterfly pursue ? 
He almost grasped it — as he smiled, 

It vanished from his view. 
And oh ! has not to-morrow seemed, 
To some, as near — yet never beamed 1 

Where is to-morrow ? hidden deep 

From human ear or eye ; 
And, who shall smile, or who shall weep, 

No mortal may descry. 
And he that lives upon to-morrow, 
Shall often drink the cup of sorrow. 

But should to-morrow never rise, 

What other scenes would meet thee ? 

Were earth to vanish from thine eyes, 

Would heaven's bright splendors greet thee ? 

Oh ! then it matters not to thee, 

Even should " to-morrow" never be. 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 



9. THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. Jewsburi/. 

I saw him on the battle-eve, 

When, like a king, he bore him, — 
Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave, 

And prouder chiefs before him : 
The warrior, and the warrior's deeds — 
The morrow, and the morrow's meeds, — 

No daunting thoughts came o'er him ; 
He looked around him, and his eye 
Defiance flashed to earth and sky. 

He looked on ocean, — its broad breast 

Was covered with his fleet ; 
On earth : — and saw, from east to west, 

His bannered millions meet : 
While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast, 
Shook with the war-cry of that host, 

The thunder of their feet ! 
He heard the imperial echoes ring,— 
He heard, — and felt himself a king, 

I saw him next alone : — nor camp, 

Nor chief, his steps attended ; 
Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp 

With war-cries proudly blended. 
He stood alone, whom fortune high 
So lately seemed to deify ; 

He, who with heaven contended, 
Fled like a fugitive and slave ! 
Behind, — the foe ; — before, — the wave. 

He stood ; — fleet, army, treasure,— gone, — 

Alone, and in despair ! 
But wave and wind swept ruthless on, 

For they were monarchs there ; 
And Xerxes, in a single bark, 
Where late his thousand ships were dark, 

Must all their fury dare : — 
What a revenge — a trophy, this— 
For thee, immortal SalamisJ 

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10. the American patriot's song. — Anonymous. 

Hark ! hear ye the sounds that the winds on their pinions 

Exultingly roll from the shore to the sea, 
With a voice that resounds through her boundless dominions ? 

'Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be free ! 

Behold on yon summits, where heaven has throned her, 
How she starts from her proud inaccessible seat ; 

With nature's impregnable ramparts around her, 
And the cataract's thunder and foam at her feet ! 

In the breeze of her mountains her loose locks are shaken* 
While the soul-stirring notes of her warrior-song 

I rom the rock to the valley re-echo, " Awaken, 
" Awaken ye hearts that have slumbered too long !" 

Yes, despots ! too long did your tyranny hold us, 
In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was known ; 

Till we learned that the links of the chain that controlled us 
Were forged by the fears of its captives alone. 

That spell is destroyed, and no longer availing, 
Despised as detested — pause well ere ye dare 

To cope with a people whose spirit and feeling 

Are roused by remembrance and steeled by despair. 

Go tame the wild torrent, or stem with a straw 

The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confines them 

But presume not again to give freemen a law, 

Nor think with the chains they have broken to bind them. 

To hearts that the spirit of liberty flushes, 
Resistance is idle, — and numbers a dream ; — 

They burst from control, as the mountain-stream rushes 
From its fetters of ice, in the warmth of the beam. 



11. the victim. — Anonymous. 

" Hand me the bowl, ye jovial band," 
He said — " 'twill rouse my mirth ;" 

But conscience seized his trembling hand, 
And — dashed the cup to earth. 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 211 

He looked around, he blushed, he laughed, 

He sipped the sparkling wave ; 
In it he read — " who drinks this draught, 

Shall dig a murderer's grave !" 

He started up, like one from sleep 

And trembled for his life : 
He gazed, and saw — his children weep, 

He saw his weeping wife. 

In his deep dream he had not felt 

Their agonies and fears ; 
But now he saw them as they knelt, 

To plead with prayers and tears. 

But the foul fiend her hateful spell 

Threw o'er his wildered mind, 
He saw in every hope a hell ; 

He was to reason blind. 

He grasped the bowl to seek relief; 

No more his conscience said : 
His bosom friend was sunk in grief, 

His children begged for bread. 

Through haunts of horror and of strife, 

He passed down life's dark tide ; 
He cursed his beggared babes and wife ; 

He cursed his God — -and died ! 



12. the call of Poland. — Campbell. 

Have ye sharpened your swords ? for the battle is nigh- 
The morn of the conflict is breaking ; 

Oh dark is the dawn, but slaughter's red eye, 
Shall enlighten the path you are taking, 
Bright hope in your bosoms awaking, 

That the vengeance which slept under muscovite sway, 

The treasure of years, shall be kindled to-day. 

Tis freedom that calls you, though dim be the sun, 

The darkness around you dispelling ; 
Though death-fires enshroud you and waste is begun, 



212 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

She to deeds of high worth compelling* 
Points to every lc-ved altar and dwelling* 
And demands from the sons of the noble in fame — 
If the hell-mark of slave must still blacken their name ? 

By the glory our tyrants would quench, but in vain — 
By the shades of your heroes departed — 

By him who, undaunted, again and again 
For the gaol of victory started, 
Kosciusko, the lion-hearted — 

By all that is worthy in man's little day, 

Go dare as your fathers, or perish as they. 

Hare ye sharpened your swords for the banquet of death! 

Have ye made the blood-deep adjuration 1 
Have ye dared on the hazard the stake of your breath ? 

Again ye shall be a free nation — 

Not vain shall be your invocation ; 
The call of each sword upon liberty's aid 
Shall be written in gore on the steel of its blade ! 



13. the oceax.— Anonymous. 

Likeness of heaven ! agent of power ! 
Man is thy victim ! shipwrecks thy dower ! 
Spices and jewels, from valley and sea, 
Armies and banners are buried in thee ! 

What are the riches of Mexico's mines, 
To the wealth that far down in the deep water shines ? 
The proud navies that cover the conquering west — 
Thou flingest them to death with one heave of thy breasf 

From the high hills that view thy wreck-making shore, 
When the bride of the mariner shrieks at thy roar ; 
When, like lambs in the tempest, or mews in the blast, 
O'er ridge-broken billows the canvass is cast ; 

How humbling to one with a heart and a soul, 
To look on thy greatness and list to its roll ; 
To think how that heart in cold ashes shall be, 
While the voice of eternity rises from thee * 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 213 

Yes ! where are the cities of Thebes and of Tyre ? 
Swept from the nations like sparks from the fire : 
The glory of Athens, the splendor of Rome, 
Dissolved — and for ever — like dew in the foam. 

But thou art almighty — eternal — sublime — 
Unweakened, un wasted — twin brother of time ! 
Fleets, tempests, nor nations, thy glory can bow ; 
As the stars first beheld thee, still chainless art thou r 

But hold ! when thy surges no longer shall roll, 

And that firmament's length is drawn back like a scroll ; 

Then — then shall the spirit that sighs by thee now, 

Be more mighty — more lasting, more chainless than thou! 



14. the world. — Anonymous. 

How beautiful the world is ! The green earth covered with 
flowers — the trees laden with rich blossoms — the blue sky, and 
the bright water, and the golden sunshine. The world is, 
indeed, beautiful, and He who made it must be beautiful. 

It is a happy world. Hark ! how the merry birds sing — 
and the young lambs — see ! how they gambol on the hillside* 
Even the trees wave, and the brooks ripple, in gladness. Yon 
eagle ! — Ah ! how joyously he soars up to the glorious heavens 
— the bird of liberty, the bird of America. 

" His throne is on the mountain-top ; 

His fields the boundless air ; 
And hoary peaks, that proudly prop 

The skies — his dwellings are. 

He rises, like a thing of light, 

Amid the noontide blaze : 
The midway sun is clear and bright — 

It cannot dim his gaze." 

it is happy — I see it and hear it all about me — nay, I feel it 
— here, in the glow, the eloquent glow of my own heart. He 
who made it must be happy. 

It is a great world. Look off to the mighty ocean when the 
storm is upon it ; — to the huge mountain, when the thunder and 
the lightnings play over it ; to the vast forest — the interminable 
waste ; — the sun, the moon, and the myriads of fair stars, 
countless as the sands upon the seashore. It is a great, a 



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magnificent world, — and He who made it, — Oh! He is the 
perfection of all loveliness, all goodness, all greatness, all 
gloriousness ! 



15. CATILINE, ON HEARING HIS SENTENCE OF BANISHMENT. 

— Croty. 

Banished from Rome ! what's banished but set free 
From daily contact of the things I lothe ? 
" Tried and convicted traitor !" — Who says this ? 
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head 1 
Banished 1 — I thank you for't. It breaks my chain ! 
I held some slack allegiance till this hour-— 
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords ; 
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 
To leave you in your lazy dignities. 
But here I stand and scoff you : — -here I fling 
Hatred and full defiance in your face. 
Your consul's merciful. For this all thanks. 
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. 
"Traitor!" I go— but I return. This trial! 
Here I devote your senate ! I've had wrongs, 
To stir a fever in the blood of age, 
Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel. 
This day's the birth of sorrows ! — This hour's work 
Will breed proscriptions. — Look to your hearths, my lords, 
For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods, 
Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes ; 
Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
Naked rebellion, with the torch and axe, 
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; 
Till anarchy comes down on you like night, 
And massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. 



16. to a child. — Yankee. 

Things of high import sound I in thine ears, 

Dear child, though now thou mayest not feel their powci ; 
But hoard them up, and in thy coming years 

Forget them not, and when earth's tempests lower, 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 215 

A talisman unto thee shall they be, 

To give thy weak arm strength — to make thy dim eye seo. 

Seek truth, that pure celestial truth — whose birth 
Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred, shrined 

In reason's light : Not oft she visits earth, 
But her majestic port, the willing mind, 

Through faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy soul, 

Nor faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll. 

Be free. — Not chiefly from the iron chain, 
But from the one which passion forges — be 

The master of thyself. If lost, regain 

The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free. 

Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet, 

And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet. 

Seek virtue. Wear her armor to the fight ; 

Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, 
Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might 

By each contending turbulent ill of life. 
Seek virtue. — She alone is all divine ; 
And having found, be strong, in God's own strength and thine 

Truths— freedom — -virtue — these, dear child, have power, 

If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain, 
And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour ; 

Neglect them — thy celestial gifts are vain — 
In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled ; 
Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled. 



17. " there's death in the pot."-— Anonymous 

Hark ! hark ! the alarum has sped, 

Dire pestilence stalks in the breeze, 
Its pathway is strewed o'er with millions of deader 

It heeds neither mountain nor seas. 
The Cossack and Turk to the ground it has brought, 
To the Jew and the Gentile "there's death in the pot." 

From Asia's dark morass it springs, 
Upraised by the mandate of heaven* 



216 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

In vain to arrest it are edicts of kings, 

The command to " destroy" has been given, — 
Its victims are marked. — To the vile, to the sot, 
Then haste with the tidings, " there's death in the pot " 

Full oft have they sung of the bowl, 

As a soothing oblivion to sorrow : 
Full oft have they sung, that the soul 

A feast from the wine-cup may borrow : 
■Tis the voice of a syren — 'tis false — heed it not ! 
She sings to destroy thee — " there's death in the pot." 

Intemperance ! dread tyrant ! too long 
Thy reign has prevailed o'er the earth ; 

Thy vassals, the children of song, 

Have owned thee the source of their mirth. 

Thy throne is now falling — thy song is forgot — 

Thy worshipers tremble, — " there's death in the pot " 

Who now tarries long at the wine — 

Who looks on the cup when 'tis red — 
To-day may be found at thy shrine : 

To-morrow, may lie with the dead. 
Tis decreed — though the victim of rum heeds it not, 
Now die or reform : — "there is death in the pot." 



18. THE FAMILY BIBLE. AnOTl7/mOUj> 

How painfully pleasing the fond recollection 

Of youthful connexions and innocent joy, 
When, blessed with parental advice and affection, 

Surrounded with mercies, with peace from on high, 
I still view the chair of my sire and my mother, 

The seats of their offspring as ranged on each hand, 
And that richest of books, which excelled every other — 

That family bible that lay on the stand ; 
The old-fashioned bible, the dear-, blessed bible, 

The family bible, that lay on the stand. 

That bible, the volume of God's inspiration, 
At morn and at evening, could yield us delight, 

And the prayer of our sire was a sweet invocation, 
For mercy by day, and for safety through night, 



DlDACTfo AND RHETORICAL. 21? 

Our hymns of thanksgiving, with harmony swelling, 

All warm from the heart of a family band, 
Half-raised us from earth to that rapturous dwelling, 

Described in the bible that lay on the stand ; 
That richest of books, which excelled every other-* 

The family bible, that lay on the stand. 

Ye scenes of tranquillity, long have we parted ; 

My hopes almost gone, and my parents no more ; 
In sorrow and sadness I live broken-hearted, 

And wander unknown on a far-distant shore. 
Yet how can I doubt a dear Savior's protection, 

Forgetful of gifts from his bountiful hand ! 
Oh, let me, with patience, receive his correction, 

And think of the bible that lay on the stand ; 
That richest of books, which excelled every other—* 

The family bible, that lay on the stand. 



19. the patriot's elysium. — Montgomery, 

There is a land, of every land the pride, 
Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside ; 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light, 
And milder moons imparadise the night ; 
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, 
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth. 
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores 
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, 
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, 
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; 
In every clime, the magnet of his soul, 
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole : 
For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace, 
The heritage of nature's noblest race, 
There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, 
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
While, in his softened looks, benignly blend 
The sire, the son, the husband, father, friend. 

Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife 
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life \ 

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218 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

In the clear heaven of her delightful eye, 
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ; 
Around her knees domestic duties meet, 
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. 
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found * 
Art thou a man ? — a patriot ? — look around ; 
Oh ! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
That land thy country, and that spot thy home. 



20. what is time? — Marsden. 

I asked an aged man, a man of cares, 
Wrinkled and curved, and white with hoary hairs ; 
" Time is the warp of life," he said, " Oh tell 
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well V 
I asked the ancient venerable dead, 
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled ; 
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed, 
" Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode !* 
I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide 
Of life had left his veins : " Time !" he replied, 
" I've lost it ! ah the treasure !" and he died. 
I asked the golden sun, and silver spheres, 
Those bright chronometers of days and years : 
They answered, " Time is but a meteor glare !" 
And bade us for eternity prepare. 
I asked a spirit lost ; but oh, the shriek 
That pierced my soul ! I shudder while I speak 
It cried, " A particle ! a speck ! a mite 
Of endless years, duration infinite !" — 
Of things inanimate, my dial I 
Consulted, and it made me this reply : — 
" Time is the season fair of living well, 
The path of glory, or the path of hell. 
I asked old father Time himself, at last, 
But in a moment he flew swiftly past ; 
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind 
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind. 
I asked the mighty angel, who shall stand, 
One foot on sea, and one on solid land ; 
" By heavens," he cried, " I swear the mystery's o'e 
Time was," he cried, " but time shall b8 no more !" 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 2l9 



21. macbeth's soliloquy. — Shakspeare. 

Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
The handle toward mv hand 1 Come, let me clutch thee.- 
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but 
A dagger of the mind, a false creation 
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
As this which now I draw. — 
Thou mar shale st me the way that I was going ; 
And such an instrument I was to use. 
Mine eyes are made the fools of the other senses, 
Or else worth all the rest — I see thee still ; 
And on the blade of the dudgeon, gouts of blood, 
Which was not so before. — There's no such thing — 
It is the bloody business, which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er one half the world 
Nature secerns dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtained sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offerings : and withered murder, 
Alarmed by his sentinel, the wolf, 
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace 
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design 
Moves like a ghost. — Thou sound and firm-set earth, 
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
The very stones prate of my whereabout ; 
And take the present horror from the time, 
Which now suits with it. — While I threat, he lives — 
I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. 
Hear it not, Duncan ! for it is a knell 
That summons thee to heaven or to hell. 



22. the battle of bannockburn. — Campbell 

Wide o'er Bannock's heathy wold, 

Scotland's deathful banners roll'd, 

And spread their wings of sprinkled gold 

To the purpling east. 
Freedom beamed in every eye ; 



UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Devotion breathed in every sigh ; 
Freedom heaved their souls on high, 
And steeled each hero's breast 

Charging then the coursers sprang, 
Sword and helmet clashing rang, 
Steel-clad warriors mixing ckng 

Echoed round the field. 
Deathful see their eyeballs glare ! 
See the nerves of battle bare ! 
Arrowy tempests cloud the air, 

And glance from every shield. 

Hark, the bowmen's quivering strings ! 
Death on grey-goose pinions springs ! 
Deep they dip their dappled wings, 

Drunk in heroes' gore. 
JLo ! Edward, springing on the rear, 
Plies his Caledonian spear : 
Ruin marks his dread career, 

And sweeps them from the shore. 

See how red the streamlets flow ! 
See the reeling, yielding foe, 
How they melt at every blow J 

Yet we shall be free ! 
Darker yet the strife appears ; 
Forest dread of flaming spears ! 
Hark ! a shout the welkin tears ! 

Bruce has victory ! 



83. HENRY V, AT THE SIEGE OF HARFLEUR. Shdkspear* 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead. 
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility ; 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
Then imitate the action of the tiger : 
Stiffen the sinews, — summon up the blood,-— 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage ; 
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
Let it pry through the portage of the head, 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL 221 

Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'er whelm it, 

As tearfully as doth a galled rock 

O'erhang aud jutty his confounded base, 

Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean. 

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, 

Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 

To its full height ! — On, on, you noble English, 

Whose blood is set from fathers of war-proof! 

Fathers, that like so many Alexanders, 

Have in these parts from morn till even fought, 

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument : 

Be copy now for men of grosser blood, 

And teach them how to war ; and you, good yeomen, 

Whose limbs are made in England, show us here 

The mettle of your pasture : let us swear 

That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not: 

For there is none of you so mean and base 

That hath not noble lustre in your eye : 

I see yon stand like greyhounds in the slips, 

Straining upon the start. The game's a-foot ; 

Follow your spirit ; and upon this charge, 

Cry, heaven for Harry, England, and St. George ! 



24. HENRY V, ENCOURAGING HIS SOLDIERS. Shokspcart 

What's he that wishes for more men from England ? 
My cousin Westmoreland ! No, my fair cousin, 
If we are marked to die, we are enow 
To do our country loss : and if to live, 
The fewer men the greater share of honor ; 
Heaven's will ! I pray thee wish not one man more. 
In truth, I am not covetous of gold, 
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; 
It yearns me not if men my garments wear ; 
Such outward things dwell not in my desires : 
But if it be a sin to covet honor, 
I am the most offending soul alive. 
No, good my lord, wish not a man from England : 
Heaven's peace, I would not lose so great an honor 
As one man more methinks would share from me, 
For the best hopes I have. Wish not one more : 
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, 
That he who hath no stomach to this tight, 
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222 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Let him depart, his passport shall be made, 

And crowns for convoy put into his purse : 

We would not die in that man's company 

That fears his fellowship to die with us. 

This day is called the feast of Crispian ; 

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, 

Will stand on tiptoe when this day is named, 

And! rouse him at the name of Crispian : 

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scara. 

This story shall the good man teach his son ; 

And Crispian, Crispian, ne'er go by 

From this day to the ending of the world, 

But we in it shall be remembered ! 

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ! 



25. new-england's dead. — McLellan, 

The bones of her sons, falling in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled 
with the soil of every state, from New-England to Georgia ; and there they will 
remain for ever." — Webster. 

New-England's dead ! New-England's dead ! 

On every hill they lie ; 
On every field of strife, made red 

By bloody victory. 
Each valley, where the battle poured 

Its red and awful tide, 
Beheld the brave New-England sword 

With slaughter deeply died. 
Their bones are on the northern hill, 

And on the southern plain, 
By brook and river, lake, and rill, 

And by the roaring main. 

The land is holy where they fought, 

And holy where they fell ; 
For by their blood that land was bought, 

The land they loved so well. 
Then glory to that valiant band, 
The honored saviors of the land ! 

They left the ploughshare in the mold, 
Their flocks and herds without a fold, 
The sickle in the unshorn grain, 
The corn, half-garnered, on the plain 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 223 

And mustered in their simple dress, 

For wrongs to seek a stern redress ; 

To right those wrongs, come weal, come wo, 

To perish, or o'ercome their foe. 

Oh, few and weak their numbers were — 

A handful of brave men ; 
But to their God they gave their prayer, 

And rushed to battle then. 
The God of battles heard their cry, 
And sent to them the victory 



26. ambition. — NeaL 

I loved to hear the war-horn cry, 

And panted at the drum's deep roll , 
And held my breath, when flaming high, 
I saw our starry banners fly, 
As challenging the haughty sky, 

They went like battle o'er my soul : 
For I was so ambitious then, 
I burned to be the slave — of men. 

I stood and saw the morning light, 
A standard swaying far and free : 
And loved it, like the conquering flight 
Of angels, floating wide and bright, 
Above the stars, above the fight, 

Where nations warred for liberty ; 
And thought I heard the battle-cry 
Of trumpets in the hollow sky. 

I sailed upon the dark blue deep. 

And shouted to the eaglet soaring ; 
And hung me from a rocky steep, 
When all but spirits were asleep ; 
And oh ! my very soul would leap 

To hear the gallant water's roaring ; 
For every sound and shape of strife, 
To me, was but the breath of life. 

But, I am strangely altered now- - 
I love no more die bugle's voice — 



224 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

The rushing wave — the plunging prow- 
The mountain with its clouded brow, 
The thunder when the blue skies bow, 

And all the sons of God rejoice — 
I love to dream of tears, and sighs, 
And shadowy hair, and half-shut eyes. 



27. the sailor. — Anonymous 

Upon the ocean's swelling tide, 

Where mountain billows rave, 
Behold the sailor's eye of pride 

Glance o'er the angry wave ■ 
High on the slippery bending mast 

He reefs the snow-white sail, 
And fears no angry threatening blast, 

The lightning or the gale. 

The sailor is a wanderer free, 

And like the breeze will fly, 
Far o'er the wide and trackless sea 

With billows mounting high. 
A lion-heart that feels no pain — 

A soul that knows no care ; 
He gaily sings and toils for gain, 

That others too may share. 

He firmly braves the swelling sea, 

To earn a scanty sum ; 
His soul is friendly, just and free, 

As generous as the sun : — 
Diffusing warmth to those in need, 

From out his hard-earned store ; 
And when his purse is low indeed, 

He gladly toils for more. 

His hand is hard — his heart is soft, 

And freely he bestows, 
The mite received from Him above, 

To cheer both friends and foes. 
His life is toil — -his morsels tough — ■ 

His hopes are dull and dim ; 
But though to us the outside's rough 

A diamond dwells within. 



DIDAi,IIC AND RHETORICAL. 225 

28. BEAUTIFUL SOLILOQUY. Taylor. 

Here's a beautiful earth and a wonderful sky 
And to see them, God gives us a heart and an eye ; 
Nor leaves us untouched by the pleasure they yield, 
Like the fowls of the heaven, or the beasts of the field 
The soul, though encumbered with sense and with sin, 
Can range through her own mystic chambers within ; 
Then soar like the eagle to regions of light, 
And dart wondrous thoughts on the stars of the night. 
Yea more, it is gifted with vision so keen, 
As to know the unknown and to see the unseen ; 
To glance at eternity's numberless days, 
Till dazzled, confounded, and lost in the maze. 
Nor will this suffice it, Oh wonderful germ, 
Of infinite blessings vouchsafed to a worm ! 
It quickens, it rises, with boundless desires, 
And heaven is the lowest to which it aspires. 
Such, such is the soul though bewildered and dark, 
A vital, etherial, unquenchable spark ; 
Thus onward and upward by nature it tends, 
Then wherefore descends it ? ah ! whither descends ; 
Soon droops its light pinion, borne down by a gust, 
It flutters, it flutters, — it cleaves to the dust ; 
Then feeds upon ashes — deceived and astray ; 
And fastens and clings to this perishing clay. 
For robes that too proud were the lilies to wear — • 
For food we divide with the fowls of the air — 
For joy that just sparkles and then disappears, 
We drop from heaven's gate to this valley of tears. 
How tranquil and blameless the pleasures it sought 
While it rested within the calm region of thought ! 
How fraught with disgust and how sullied with wo, 
Is all that detains and beguiles it below ! 
Oh Thou, who when silent and senseless it lay, 
Didst breathe into life the inanimate clay, 
Now nourish and quicken the languishing fire ; 
And fan to a flame that shall never expire ! 



29. to-morrow. — Cotton. 

To-morrow, didst thou say ? 
Methought I heard Horatio say, To-morrow. 
Go to — I will not hear of it — To-morrow ! 



226 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury 

Against thy plenty — who takes thy ready cash, 

And pays thee nought, but wishes, hopes, and promises. 

The currency of idiots — injurious bankrupt, 

That gulls the easy creditor ! — To-morrow ! 

It is a period nowhere to be found 

In all the hoary registers of Time, 

Unless perchance m the fool's calendar. 

Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society 

With those who own it. No, my Horatio, 

'Tis fancy's child, and folly is its father ; 

Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless 

As the fantastic visions of the evening. 

But soft, my friend — arrest the present moment : 
For be assured they all are arrant tell-tales : 
And though their flight be silent, and their path 
Trackless, as the winged couriers of the air, 
They post to heaven, and there record thy folly ; 
Because, though stationed on the important watch, 
Thou, like a sleeping, faithless sentinel, 
Didst let them pass unnoticed, unimproved. 
And know, for that thou slumberest on the guard, 
Thou shalt be made to answer at the bar 
For every fugitive ; and when thou thus 
Shalt stand impleaded at the high tribunal 
Of hoodwinked justice, who shall tell thy audit? 

Then stay the present instant, dear Horatio, 
Imprint the marks of wisdom on its wings. 
'Tis of more worth than kingdoms ! far more precious 
Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain. 
Oh ! let it not elude thy grasp ; but, like 
The good old patriarch upon record, 
Hold the fleet angel fast until he bless thee. 



30. Elijah's interview. — Campbell. 

On Horeb's rock the prophet stood — 
The Lord before him passed ; 

A hurricane in angry mood 
Swept by him strong and fast ; 

The forest fell before its force, 

The rocks were shivered in its course, — 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 227 

God was not in the blast ; 
Announcing danger, wreck, and death, 
'Twas but the whirlwind of his breath 

It ceased. The air grew mute — a cloud 

Came, muffling up the sun ; 
When, through the mountain, deep and loud 

An earthquake thundered on ; 
The frighted eagle sprang in air, 
The wolf ran howling from his lair, — 

God was not in the storm ; 
'Twas but the rolling of his car, 
The trampling of his steeds from far. 

'Twas still again, and nature stood 

And calmed her ruffled frame : 
When swift from heaven a fiery flood 

To earth devouring came : 
Down to the depth the ocean fled ; 
The sickening sun looked wan and dead ; 

Yet God filled not the flame, — 
'Twas but the terror of his eye 
That lightened through the troubled sky 

At last a voice all still and small 

Rose sweetly on the ear, 
Yet rose so shrill and clear, that all 

In heaven and earth might hear : 
It spoke of peace, it spoke of love, 
It spoke as angels speak above, — 

And God himself was there ; 
For oh ! it was a father's voice, 
That bade the trembling world rejoice. 



31. byron. — Pollok. 

He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced, 
As some vast river of unfailing source, 
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed, 
And oped new fountains in the human heart. 
Where fancy halted, weary in her flight, 



ItS UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

In other men, his, fresh as morning rose, 

And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home, 

Where angels bashful looked. Others, though great, 

Beneath their argument seemed struggling whiles ; 

He from above descending, stooped to touch 

The loftiest thought ; and proudly stooped, as though 

It scarce deserved his verse. With nature's self 

He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest 

At will with all her glorious majesty. 

He laid his hand upon " the ocean's mane," 

And played familiar with his hoary locks. 

Stood on the Alps, stood on the Appenines ; 

And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend ; 

And wove his garland of the lightning's wing, 

In sportive twist — the lightning's fiery wing, 

Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God, 

Marching upon the storm in vengeance seemed — 

Then turned, and with the grasshopper, who sung 

His evening song beneath his feet, conversed. 

Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds his sisters were ; 

Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms 

His brothers — younger brothers, whom he scarce 

As equals deemed. 

As some fierce comet of tremendous size, 

To which the stars did reverence as it passed ; 

So he through learning and through fancy took 

His flight sublime ; and on the loftiest top 

Of fame's dread mountain sat ; not soiled, and worn, 

As if he from the earth had labored up ; 

But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair, 

He looked, which down from highei regions came, 

And perched it there, to see what lay beneath. 

Great man ! the nations gazed and wondered much, 

And praised : and many called his evil good. 

Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness : 

And kings to do him honor took delight. 

Thus full of titles, flattery, honor, fame ; 

Beyond desire, beyond ambition full, — 

He died — he died of what 1 Of wretchedness. 

Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump 

Of fame ; drank early, deeply drank ; drank draughts 

That common millions might have quenched — then died 

Of thirst, because there was no more to drink. 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 229 



32. SONG OF MAC MURROUGH. Scott. 

Mist darkens the mountains, night darkens the vale, 
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael : 
A stranger commanded — it sunk on the land, 
It has frozen each heart, and benumbed every hand ! 

The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, 
The bloodless claymore is but reddened with rust ; 
On the hill, or the glen, if a gun should appear, 
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. 

The deeds of our sires, if our bards should rehearse, 
Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ! 
Be mute every string, and be hushed every tone, 
That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown. 

But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past, 
The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ; 
Glenaladale's peaks are illumined with the rays, 
And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze. 

Oh high-minded Moray ! — the exiled ! — the dear ! — 
In the blush of the dawning the standard uprear, 
Wide, wide, on the winds of the north let it fly, 
Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh ! 

Ye sons of the strong, when the dawning shall break, 
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? 
That dawn never beamed on your forefathers' eye 
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die. 

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, 
Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake ! 
'Tis the bugle — but not for the chase is the call ; 
'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to the hall 

'Tis the summons of heroes to conquest or death, 
When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath , 
They call to the dirk, the claymore, the targe, 
To the march and the muster, the line and the chaige. 
20 



^30 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire ! 
May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire ! 
Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore 
Or die like your sires and endure it no more ! 



33. WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER ? Doane. 

What is that, mother ? 

The lark, my child. 
The morn has just looked out, and smiled, 
When he starts from his humble grassy nest, 
And is up and away with the dew on his breast, 
And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure bright sphere 
To warble it out in his Maker's ear. 
Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays, 
Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise 

What is that, mother ? 

The dove, my son. — 
And that low sweet voice, like a widow's moan. 
Is flowing out from her gentle breast, 
Constant and pure by that lonely nest, 
As the wave is poured from some crystal urn, 
For her distant dear one's quick return. 
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove ; 
In friendship as faithful, as constant in love. 

What is that, mother ? 

The eagle, my boy 
Proudly careering his course of joy, 
Firm, in his own mountain vigor relying ; 
Breasting the dark storm ; the red bolt defying , 
His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, 
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right op 
Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine ; 
Onward, and upward, and true to the line. 

What is that, mother ? 

The swan, my love. 
He is floating down from his native grove, 
No loved one now, no nestling nigh ; 
He is floating down, by himself, to die 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 231 

Death darkens his eye and unplumes his wings, 
Yet his sweetest song is the last he sings. 
Live so, my love, that when death shall come, 
Swanlike and sweet it may waft thee home. 



34. woman. — Campbell. 

In joyous youth, what soul hath never known 
Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own ? 
Who hath not paused while beauty's pensive eye 
Asked from his heart the homage of a sigh ? 
Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame, 
The power of grace, the magic of a name ? 

There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, 
Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow : 
There be, whose loveless wisdom never failed, 
In self-adoring pride securely mailed ; — 
But, triumph not, ye peace-enamored few ! 
Fire, nature, genius, never dwelt with you ! 
For you no fancy consecrates the scene 
Where rapture uttered vows, and wept between : 
'Tis yours, unmoved, to sever and to meet ; 
No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet ! 

Who that would ask a heart to dullness wed, 
The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead 1 
No ; the wild bliss of nature needs alloy, 
And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy ! 
And say without our hopes, without our fears, 
Without the home that plighted love endears, 
Without the smile from partial beauty won, 
Oh ! what were man 1 — a world without a sun ! 

Till hymen brought his love-delighted hour, 
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower ! 
In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, 
At starry midnight charmed the silent air : 
In vain the wild-bird caroled on the steep, 
To hail the sun, slow- wheeling from the deep ; 
In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, 
Aerial notes in mingling measure played ; 
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, 
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee ; — 



232 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

Still slowly passed the melancholy day, 
And still the stranger wist not where to stray, — 
The world was sad ! — the garden was a wild ! 
And man, the hermit, sighed — till woman smiled ! 



35. freedom. — Cowper% 

Fair freedom has a thousand charms to show, 
That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. 
The mind attains, beneath her happy reign, 
The growth that nature meant she should attain • 
The varied fields of science, ever new, 
Opening and wider opening on her view. 
She ventures onward with a prosperous force, 
While no base fear impedes her in her course. 
Religion, richest favor of the skies, 
Stands most re\ caled before the freeman's eyes • 
No shades of superstition blot the day, 
Liberty chases all that gloom away ; 
The soul emancipated, unoppressed, 
Free to prove all things and hold fast the best, 
Learns much ; and to a thousand listening minds 
Communicates with joy the good she finds ; 
Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show 
His manly forehead to the fiercest foe : 
Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace, 
His spirits rising as his toils increase, 
Guards well what arts and industry have won, 
And Freedom claims him for her firstborn son. 
Slaves fight for what were better cast away — 
The chain that binds them, and a tyrant's sway 
But they that fight for freedom, undertake 
The noblest cause mankind can have at stake : 
Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call 
A blessing— freedom is the pledge of all. 
Oh liberty ! the prisoner's pleasing dream, 
The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme ; 
Genius is thine, and thou art fancy's nurse ; 
Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verse ; 
Heroic song from thy sweet touch acquires 
Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires : 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 233 

Place me where winter breathes his keenest air, 

And I will sing, if liberty be there ; 

And I will sing at liberty's dear feet, 

In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat. 



36. THE GRAVES OF THE PATRIOTS. Percival. 

Here rest the great and good — here they repose 
After their generous toil. A sacred band, 
They take their sleep together, while the year 
Comes with its early flowers to deck their graves, 
And gathers them again, as winter frowns. 
Theirs is no vulgar sepulchre ; green sods 
Are all their monument ; and yet it tells 
A nobler history than pillared piles, 
Or the eternal pyramids. They need 
No statue nor inscription to reveal 
Their greatness. It is round them ; and the joy 
With which theii children tread the hallowed ground 
That holds their venerated bones, the peace 
That smiles on all they fought for, and the wealth 
That clothes the land they rescued, — these, though mute, 
As feeling ever is when deepest, — these 
Are monuments more lasting than the fanes 
Reared to the kings and demi-gods of old. 

Touch not the ancient elms, that bend their shade 
Over their lowly graves ; beneath their boughs 
There is a solemn darkness, even at noon, 
Suited to such as visit at the shrine 
Of serious liberty. No factious voice 
Called them unto the field of generous fame, 
But the poor consecrated love of home. 
No deeper feeling sways us, when it wakes 
In all its greatness. It has told itself 
To the astonished gaze of awestruck kings, 
At Marathon, at Bannockburn, and here, 
When first our patriots sent the invader back 
Broken and cowed. Let these green elms be all 
To tell us where they fought, and where they lie. 
Their feelings were all nature, and they need 
No art to make them known. They live in us, 
While we are like them, simple, hardy, bold, 
Worshiping nothing but our own pure hearts, 
20* 



234 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

And the one universal Lord. They need 
No column, pointing to the heaven they sought, 
To tell us of their home. The heart itself, 
Left to its own free purpose, hastens there, 
And there alone reposes. 



37. INFLUENCE OF HOPE AT THE CLOSE OF LIFE, Campbell 

Unfading hope ! when life's last embers burn, 
When soul to soul, and dust to dust return ! 
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour ! 
Oh ! then, thy kingdom comes ! Immortal power ! 
What though each spark of earthborn rapture fly ! 
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! 
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
The morning dream of life's eternal day — 

Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin ! 
And all the phoenix spirit burns within ! 
Oh ! deep-enchanting prelude to repose, 
The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! 
Yet half I hear the panting spirit sigh, 
It is a dread — an awful thing to die ! 
Mysterious worlds ! untraveled by the sun, 
Where Time's far wandering tide has never run, 
From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres, 
A warning comes unheard by other ears — 
'Tis heaven's commanding trumpet long and loud 
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! 
While nature hears with terror mingled trust, 
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust ; 
And, like the trembling Hebrew when he trod 
The roaring waves, and called upon his God, 
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, 
And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abys3 ! 
Daughter of faith, awake ! arise ! illume 
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! 
Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll 
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul ! 
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay, 
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day ! 
The strife is o'er ! — the pangs of nature close, 
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. 
Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, 
The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze, 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 235 

On heavenly wings that waft her to the sky 
Float the sweet tones of starbom melody : 
Wild as the hallowed anthem sent to hail 
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, 
When Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still 
Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill. 



38. address to sceptics. — Campbell. 

Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, 
Lights of the world and demi-gods of fame ? 
Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, 
Children of truth, and champions of her cause 1 
For this hath science searched, on weary wing, 
By shore and sea, — each mute and living thing 1 
Launched with Iberia's pilot from the steep, 
To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep ! 
Or round the cope her living chariot driven 
And wheeled in triumph through the signs of heaven ! 
Oh ! star-eyed science, hast thou wandered there, 
To waft us home the message of despair ! 
Then bind the palm thy sage's brow to suit, 
Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit ! 
Ah me ! the laureled wreath that murder rears, 
Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's tears, 
Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, 
As waves the night-shade round the sceptic's head. 
What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain 1 
I smile on death if heavenward hope remain ! 
But if the warring winds of nature's strife 
Be all the faithless charter of my life, 
If chance awaked, inexorable power ! 
This frail and feverish being of an hour ; 
Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, 
Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, 
To know delight but by her parting smile, 
And toil, and wish, and weep a little while ; 
Then melt, ye elements ! that formed in vain 
This troubled pulse and visionary brain ! 
Fade, ye wild flowers ! memorials of my doom ; 
And sing, ye stars ! that light me to the tomb. 
Truth ! ever lovely — since the world began, 
The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man, — 



236 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

How can thy words from balmy slumber start, 
Reposing virtue, pillowed on the heart ! 
Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled, 
And that were true which nature never told, 
Let wisdom smile not on her conquered field ; 
No rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed ! 
Oh ! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, 
The doom that bars us from a better fate ; 
But, sad as angels from the good man's sin, 
Weep to record, and blush to give it in. 



39. ambition. — Willis. 

What is ambition ? 'Tis a glorious cheat ! 
Angels of light walk not so dazzlingly 
The sapphire walls of heaven. The unsearched mine 
Hath not such gems. Earth's constellated thrones 
Have not such pomp of purple and of gold. 
It hath no features. In its face is set 
A mirror, and the gazer sees his own. 
It looks a god, but it is like himself! 
It hath a mien of empery, and smiles 
Majestically sweet — but how like him! 
It follows not with fortune. It is seen 
Rarely or never in the rich man's hall. 
It seeks the chamber of the gifted boy, 
And lifts his humble window and comes in. 
The narrow walls expand, and spread away 
Into a kingly palace, and the roof 
Lifts to the sky, and unseen fingers work 
The ceilings with rich blazonry, and write 
His name in burning letters over all. 
And ever, as he shuts his wildered eyes, 
The phantom comes and lays upon his lids 
A spell that murders sleep, and in his ear 
Whispers a deathless word, and on his bram 
Breathes a fierce thirst no water will allay 
He is its slave henceforth ! His days are spent 
In chaining down his heart, and watching where 
To rise by human weaknesses. His nights 
Bring him no rest in all their blessed hours. 
His kindred are forgotten or estranged. 
Unhealthful fires burn constant in his eye. 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 237 

His lip grows restless, and its smile is curled 
Half into scorn, — till the bright, fiery boy, 
That was a daily blessing but to see, 
His spirit was so birdlike and so pure, 
Is frozen, in the very flush of youth, 
Into a cold, care-fretted, heartless man ! 

And what is its reward 1 At best, a name ! 
Praise — when the ear has grown too dull to hear ; 
Gold — when the senses it should please are dead ; 
Wreaths — when the hair they cover has grown gra) T ; 
Fame — when the heart it should have thrilled is numb. 
All things but love — when love is all we want, 
And close behind comes death, and ere we know 
That even these unavailing gifts are ours, 
He sends us, stripped and naked, to the grave ' 



40. OPPOSITION OF CHARACTERS. Polhk. 

One man there was — and many such you might 
Have met — who never had a dozen thoughts 
In all his life, and never changed their course ; 
But told them o'er, each in its 'customed place, 
From morn till night, from youth till hoary age. 
Little above the ox which grazed the field 
His reason rose : so weak his memory, 
The name his mother called him by, he scarce 
Remembered ; and his judgment so untaught, 
That what at evening played along the swamp, 
Fantastic, clad in robe of fiery hue, 
He thought the devil in disguise, and fled 
With quivering heart and winged footsteps home. 
The word philosophy he never heard, 
Or science ; never heard of liberty, 
Necessity, or laws of gravitation : 
And never had an unbelieving doubt. 
Beyond his native vale he never looked ; 
But thought the visual line that girt him round, 
The world's extreme : and thought the silver moon, 
That nightly o'er him led her virgin host, 
No broader than his father's shield. He lived — 
Lived where his father lived — died where he died •, 
Lived happy, and died happy, and was saved. 
Be not surprised. He loved and served his God. 



238 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

There was another, large of understanding, 
Of memory infinite, of judgment deep : 
Who knew all learning, and all science knew; 
And all phenomena in heaven and earth, 
Traced to their causes ; traced the labyrinths 
Of thought, association, passion, will ; 
And all the subtile, nice affinities 
Of matter traced ; its motions, virtues, laws ; 
And most familiarly and deeply talked 
Of mental, moral, natural, divine. 
Leaving the earth at will, he soared to heaven 
And read the glorious visions of the skies ; 
And to the music of the rolling spheres 
Intelligently listened ; and gazed far back, 
Into the awful depths of Deity. 
Did all that mind assisted most, could do ; 
And yet in misery lived, in misery died. 
Because he wanted holiness of heart. 

A deeper lesson this to mortals taught, 
And nearer cut the branches of their pride : 
That not in mental, but in moral worth, 
God excellence placed ; and only to the good 
To virtue, granted happiness alone. 



41. what's hallowed ground? — Campbell 

What's hallowed ground 1 Has earth a clod 
Its Maker meant not should be trod 
By man, the image of his God, 

Erect and free, 
Unscourged by superstition's rod, 

To bow the knee ? 

What's hallowed ground I — where, mourned and missed, 
The lips repose our love has kissed, — 
But where's their memory's mansion 1 Is't 

Yon churchyard's bowers 1 
No ! in ourselves their souls exist, 

A part of ours. 

A kiss can consecrate the ground 
Where mated hearts are mutual bound : 
The spot where love's first links were wound, 
That ne'er are riven, 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL 239 

Is hallowed, down to earth's profound, 
And up to heaven ! 

What hallows ground where heroes sleep 1 
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap : 
In dews that heavens far-distant weep 

Their turf may bloom ; 
Or genii twine beneath the deep 

Their coral tomb. 

But strew his ashes to the wind 

Whose sword or voice has saved mankind — 

And is he dead, whose glorious mind 

Lifts thine on high ? 
To live in hearts we leave behind, 

Is not to die. 

Is't death to fall for freedom's right ? 
He's dead alone that lacks her light ! 
And murder sullies, in heaven's sight, 

The sword he draws :— 
What can alone ennoble fight ? 

A noble cause ? 

Give that : and welcome war to brace 

Her drums ! and rend heaven's reeking space ! 

The colors planted face to face, 

The charging cheer. 
Though death's pale horse lead on the chase, 

Shall still be dear. 

What's hallowed ground 1 'Tis what gives birth 
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! 
Peace ! independence ! truth ! go forth 

Earth's compass round ; 
And your high-priesthood shall make earth 

All hallowed ground! 



42. CASSIUS INSTIGATING BRUTUS AGAINST C^SAR, Skafr 

speare. 

Honor is the subject of my story— 
1 cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life ; but for my single self, 



240 _ UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

I had as lief not be, as live to be 

In awe of such a thing as myself. 

I was born free as Caesar ; so were you ; 

We have both fed as well ; and we can both 

Endure the winter's cold as well as he 

For, once, upon a raw and gusty day, 

The troubled Tiber, chafing with its shores, 

Caesar says to me, — " Dare-st thou, Cassius, now 

Leap in with me into this angry flood, 

And swim to yonder point ?" — Upon the word, 

Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 

And bade him follow ; so indeed he did 

The torrent roared, and we did buffet it ; 

With lusty sinews throwing it aside, 

And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 

But ere we could arrive the point proposed, 

Caesar cried, — " Help me, Cassius, or I sink." 

I, as iEneas, our great ancestor, 

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 

The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber, 

Did I the tired Caesar ; and this man 

Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 

A wretched creature, and must bend his body 

If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 

He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
And when the fit was on him, I did mark 
How he did shake : 'tis true this god did shake ; 
His coward lips did from their color fly ; 
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 
Did lose its lustre ; I did hear him groan, 
Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Roman? 
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
" Alas !" it cried — " Give me some drink, Titinius" — 
As a sick girl. 

Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of the majestic world, 
And bear the palm alone. 

Brutus and Caesar! — What should be in that Caesar? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 
Write them together : yours is as fair a name ; 
Sound them : it doth become the mou£h as well ; 
Weigh them : it is as heavy ; conjure with 'em : 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 

Now in the name of ail the gods at once 



DTDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 24] 

ITpon what meats doth this our Caesar feed, 

That he hath grown so great ? Age, thou art shamed ; 

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods. 

When went there by an age, since the great flood, 

But it was famed with more than with one man ? 

When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, 

That her wide walls encompassed but one man ? 

Oh ! you and I have heard our fathers say, 

There was a Brutus once, that would have brooked 

The infernal devil, to keep his state in Rome, 

As easily as a king. 



43. new-england. — Percival. 

Hail to the land whereon we tread, 

Our fondest boast : 
The sepulchre of mighty dead, 
The truest hearts that ever bled, 
Who sleep on glory's brightest bed, 

A fearless host : 
No slave is here — our unchained feet 
Walk freely, as the waves that beat 

Our coast. 

Our fathers crossed the ocean's wave 

To seek this shore ; 
They left behind the coward slave 
To welter in his living grave ; — 
With hearts unbent, and spirits brave, 

They sternly bore 
Such toils as meaner souls had quelled ; 
But souls like these, such toils impelled 

To soar. 

Hail to the morn, when first they stood 

On Bunker's height. 
And, fearless stemmed the invading flood, 
And wrote our dearest rights in blood, 
And mowed in ranks the hireling brood, 

In desperate fight ! 
Oh ! 'twas a proud, exulting day, 
For even our fallen fortunes lay 

In light. 

21 



242 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

There is no other land like thee, 

No dearer shore ; 
Thou art the shelter of the free ; 
The home, the port of liberty 
Thou hast been, and shalt ever be, 

Till time is o'er. 
Ere I forget to think upon 
My land, shall mother curse the son 

She bore. 

Thou art the firm unshaken rock, 

On which we rest , 
And, rising from thy hardy stock, 
Thy sons the tyrant's frown shall mock, 
And slavery's galling chains unlock, 

And free the oppressed : 
All, who the wreath of freedom twine, 
Beneath the shadow of their vine 

Are blest. 

We love thy rude and rocky shore, 

And here we stand — 
Let foreign navies hasten o'er, 
And on our heads their fury pour, 
And peal their cannon's loudest roar, 

And storm our land : 
They still shall find, our lives are given 
To die for home ; — and leant on heaven 
Our hand. 



44. moloch's oration for war. — Milton. 

My sentence is for open war : of wiles, 
More unexpert, I boast not ; them let those 
Contrive who need ; or when they need ; not now 
For while they sit contriving, shall the rest, 
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait 
The signal to ascend, sit lingering here 
Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place 
Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, 
The prison of his tyranny who reigns 
By our delay ! No, — let us rather choose, 
Armed with hell-flames and fury r all at once 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 243 

O'er heaven's high towers to force resistless way, 

Turning our tortures into horrid arms 

Against the torturer ; when to meet the noise 

Of his almighty engine he shall hear 

Infernal thunder ; and, for lightning, see 

Black fire and horror shot with equal rage 

Among his angels : and his throne itself 

Mixed with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire, 

His own invented torments. — But perhaps 

The way seems difficult, and steep to scale 

With upright wing against a higher foe. 

Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench 

Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, 

That in our proper motion we ascend 

Up to our native seat : descent and fall 

To us is adverse. Who but felt of late 

When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear 

Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, 

With what compulsion and laborious fight 

We sunk thus low ! — The ascent is easy then : — 

The event is feared : — should we again provoke 

Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find 

To our destruction ; if there be in hell 

Fear to be worse destroyed. — What can be worse 

Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned 

In this abhorred deep to utter wo ; 

Where pain of unextinguishable fire 

Must exercise us without hope of end, 

The vassals of his anger, when the scourge 

Inexorable, and the torturing hour 

Call us to penance ? — More destroyed than thus, 

We should be quite abolished, and expire. 

What fear we then ? — What doubt we to incense 

His utmost ire ! which to his height enraged 

W r ill either quite consume us and reduce 

To nothing this essential ; happier far, 

Than miserable to have eternal being ; 

Or if our substance be indeed divine, 

And cannot cease to be, we are, at worst, 

On this side nothing ; and by proof we feel 

Our power sufficient to disturb his heaven, 

And with perpetual inroad to alarm, 

Though inaccessible, his fatal throne ; 

W'hjch if not victory, is yet revenge. 



244 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



45. REGULUS BEFORE THE ROMAN SENATE. Jewsbury. 

Thou here ! — and have not prison gloom, 
And taunting foes, and threatened doom, 

Obscured thy courage yet? — 
Oh joy for earth ! thus to behold 
One spirit of such glorious mold ; 

One sun that cannot set, — 
Though storms beat round it in their might, 
And sorrow flings her blackest night. 

Thy power is past, thy sword hath rust, 
Thine outward honor in the dust, 

Nor chief, nor ruler thou ! 
The fetter's mark is on thy limb — 
Thine hair is gray — thine eye is dim — 

And on thy pallid brow, 
Those records of soul-strife are set, 
That none may gaze on, and forget. 

Thou lion chained ! — thou eagle blind ! 
Though last I saw thee unconflned 

In grandeur and in might, — 
One empire wreath thy victor crown, 
Another, tremble at thy frown, — 

Less glorious far that sight, 
Than thus to view thee standing now, 
Chief of the stern and stricken brow ! 

The mighty ones of Rome are met, 
Her senate sages round thee set, 

(Each worthy of a throne) 
Yet mean, compared with thine, their state; 
They, but dispose of others' fate, — 

Thou, patriot — of thine own ; 
For them, the world may guerdon be, — 
Thine, thine, is immortality! 

But holier things than life or power 
Surround thee in this awful hour ; — 

Still warrior art thou strong 1 
That suppliant — 'tis ihy wife that bends, 
Those tears — they flow from faithful friends, 

Thy children round thee throng ; 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 245 

One word, but one, and thou may'st stay ; — 
Firm spirit, wilt thou turn away ? 

A dull deep pause — that hush of breath 
Which speaks anticipated death, 

One still, stern look from him, — 
A look, that tells of spotless fame, 
Of strength for suffering, not for shame, 

Resolve, no grief must dim ; — 
This — and the Roman all would save, 
Departs, self-martyred, for the grave ! 



16. THE SPIDER AND THE BEE. AnonymOUS 

With viscous thread, and finger fine, 
The spider spun his filmy line ; 
The extremes with stronger cordage tied. 
And wrought the web from side to side. 

Beneath the casement's pendant roof, 
He hung aloft the shadowy woof: — 
There in the midst compressed he lies, 
And patient waits the expected prize. 

When, lo ! on sounding pinion strong, 
A bee, incautious, rushed along ; 
Nor of the gauzy net aware, 
Till all entangled in the snare. 

Enraged, he plies his buzzing wings, 
His far-resounding war-song sings ; 
Tears all that would his course control, 
And threatens ruin to the whole. 

With dread, with gladness, with surprise, 
The spider saw the dangerous prize ; 
Then rushed relentless on his foe, 
Intent to give the deadly blow. 

But as the spider came in view, 
The bee his poisoned dagger drew ; — 
Back at the sight the spider ran, — 
And now his crafty work began. 

21* 



246 UNITED STATES SPEAKER, 

With lengthened arms the snares he plied, 
He turned the bee from side to side ; 
His legs he tied, his wings he bound, 
And whirled his victim round and round. 

And now with cautious steps and slow, 
He came to give the fatal blow ; 
When, frightened at the trenchant blade, 
The bee one desperate effort made. 

The fabric breaks — the cords give way ; 
His wings resume their wonted play ; 
Far off on gladsome plume he flies, 
And drags the spider through the skies. 

Shun vice's snares ;— but if you're caught, 
Boldly resist, and parley not : 
Then, though your foe you cannot kill, 
You'll lead him captive where you will. 



47. the first wanderer. — Jewsbury. 

Creation's heir ! — the first, the last, 

That knew the world his own ;- 
Yet stood he 'mid his kingdom vast, 

A fugitive — o'erthrown ! 
Faded and frail his glorious form, 

And changed his soul within, 
Whilst fear, and sorrow, strife, and storm, 

Told the dark secret — sin ! 

Unaided and alone on earth, 

He bade the heavens give ear ; 

But every star that sang his birth, 

Kept silence in its sphere ; 
He saw, round Eden's distant steep, 

Angelic legions stray ; — 
Alas ! he knew them sent to keep 

His guilty foot away. 

Then, reckless, turned he to his own, 
The world before him spread ; — 

But nature's was an altered tone, 
And breathed rebuke and dread : 



didactic; and rhetorical. 247 

Fierce thunder-peal, and rocking gale, 

Answered the storm-swept sea,— 
Whilst crashing forests joined the wail ; 

And all said—" Cursed for thee." 

This^ spoke the lion's prowling roar, 

And this, the victim's cry ; 
This, written in defenseless gore, 

For ever met his eye : 
And not alone each sterner power, 

Proclaimed just heaven's decree,— 
The faded leaf, the dying flower, 

Alike said — " Cursed for thee." 

Though mortal, doomed to many a length 

Of life's now narrow span, 
Sons rose around in pride and strength ; — 

They too proclaimed the ban. 
Twas heard, amid their hostile spears, 

Seen, in the murderer's doom ; 
Breathed, from the widow's silent tears, 

Felt, in the infant's tomb. 

Ask not the wanderer's after-fate, 

His being, birth, or name, — 
Enough that all have shared his state, 

That Man is still the same. 
Still, brier and thorn his life o'ergrow, 

Still, strives his soul within ; 
Whilst care, and pain, and sorrow show 

The same dark secret — sin. 



48. caractacus. — Barton. 

Before proud Rome's imperial throne, 

In mind's unconquered mood, 
As if the triumph were his own, 

The dauntless captive stood : 
None, to have seen his freeborn air, 
Had fancied him a prisoner there. 

Though through the crowded streets of Rome r 

With slow and stately tread, 
Far from his own loved island-home 

That day in triumph led, — 



248 UNITED SJTATES SPEAKER. 

Unbowed his head, unbent his knee, 
Undimmed his eye, his aspect free. 

A free and fearless glance he cast 
On temple, arch, and tower, 

By which the long procession passed 
Of Rome's victorious power ; 

And somewhat of a scornful smile 

Upcurled his haughty lip the while. 

And now he stood, with brow serene, 
Where slaves might prostrate fall ; 

Bearing a Briton's manly mien 
In Caesar's palace-hall ; 

Claiming, with kindling brow and cheek, 

The privilege even there to speak. 

Nor could Rome's haughty lord withstand " 
The claim that look preferred ; 

But motioned, with uplifted hand, 
The suppliant should be heard, — 

If he, indeed, a suppliant were, 

Whose glance demanded audience there. 

Deep stillness fell on all the crowd, 
From Claudius on his throne, 

Down to the meanest slave that bowed 
At his imperial tone ; 

Silent his fellow-captives' grief, 

As fearless spoke the island chief : 

* Think not, thou eagle lord of Rome, 

And master of the world, 
Though victory's banner o'er thy dome 

In triumph now is furled, 
I would address thee as thy slave, — 
But as the bold should greet the brave. 

" I might, perchance, could I have deigned 

To hold a vassal's throne, 
Even now in Britain's isle have reigned 

A king, in name alone : — 
Yet holding, as thy meek ally, 
A monarch's mimic pageantry. 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 249 

"Then through Rome's crowded streets this day, 

I might have rode with thee ; 
Not in a captive's base array, 

But fetterless and free ; — 
If freedom he could hope to find 
Whose bondage is of heart and mind. 

" But canst thou marvel that, — freeborn, 

With heart and hope unquelled, 
Throne, crown, and sceptre I should scorn, 

By thy permission held ? 
Or that I should retain my right, 
'Till wrested by a conqueror's might ? 

" Rome, with her palaces, and towers, 

By us unwished, unreft, 
Her homely huts, and woodland bowers, 

To Britain might have left ; — 
Worthless to you their wealth must be, 
But dear to us— for they were free ! 

" I might have bowed before, — but where 

Had been thy triumph now ? 
To my resolve no yoke to bear 

Thou owest thy laureled brow ; 
Inglorious victory had been thine, 
And more inglorious bondage mine. 

u Now I have spoken, — do thy will ; 

Be life or death my lot, — 
Since Britain's throne no more I fill, 

To me it matters not : 
My fame is clear ; but on my fate 
Thy glory, or thy shame must wait." 

He ceased. From all around upsprung 

A murmur of applause ; 
For well had truth and freedom's tongue 

Maintained their holy cause : 
The conqueror was their captive then ; 
— -He bade the slave be free again. 



$50 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



49. SPEECH OF BELIAL, DISSUADING WAR. Milton 

I should be much for open war, Oh peers, 
As not behind in hate, if what were urged 
Main reason to persuade immediate war, 
Did not dissuade me more, and seem to cast 
Ominous conjecture on the whole success ; 
When he who most excels in tact of arms, 
In what he counsels, and in what excels, 
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair, 
And utter dissolution as the scope 
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. 
First, what revenge ? — The towers of heaven are filled 
With armed watch, that render all access 
Impregnable : oft on the bordering deep 
Encamp their legions : or with obscure wing, 
Scout far and wide into the realms of night, 
Scorning surprise. — Or could we break our way 
By force, and at our heels, all hell should rise 
With blackest insurrection, to confound 
Heaven's purest light ; yet our great enemy, 
All incorruptible, would on his throne, 
Sit unpolluted ; and the etheriai mold, 
Incapable of stain, would soon expel 
Her mischief^ and purge off the baser fire, 
Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope 
Is flat despair ; we must exasperate 
The al mighty victor to spend all his rage, 
And that must end us ; that must be our cure,-^- 
To be no more. — Sad cure ! — for who would lose, 
Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 
Those thoughts that wander through eternity,— — 
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost 
Jn the wide tomb of uncreated night, 
Devoid of sense and motion ? — And who knows 
(Let this be good) whether our angry foe 
Can give it, or will ever ? How he can, 
Is doubtful ; that he never will, is sure. 
Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, 
Belike through impotence, or unawares. 
To give his enemies their wish and end 
Them in his anger, whom his anger saves 
To punish endless ? — " Wherefore cease ye then f 
Say they, who counsel war; "we are decreed, 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 451 

Reserved, and destined to eternal wo : 
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, 
What can we suffer worse ? n Is this then worst, 
Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms ? 
What when we (led amain, pursued and struck 
With heavens afflicting thunder, and besought 
The deep to shelter us ? this hell then seemed 
A refuge from those wounds ! or when we lay 
Chained on the burning lake ? that sure was worse. 
What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, 
Awaked, should blow them into seven-fold rage, 
And plunge us in the flames ? or, from above, 
Should intermitted vengeance arm again 
His red right hand to plague ? what if all 
Her stores were opened, and this firmament 
Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire, 
Impending horrors, threatening hideous fall 
One day upon our heads ; while we, perhaps, 
Designing or exhorting glorious war, 
Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled, 
Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey 
Of racking whirlwinds ; or for ever sunk 
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapped in chains ; 
There to converse with everlasting groans, 
Unrespited, un pitied, imreprieved, 
Ages of hopeV3ss end ? — this would be worse. 
VV r ar, therefore, open and concealed, alike 
My voice dissuades. 



50. DEATH AND THE DRUNKARD. AnonymOUS. 

His form was fair, his cheek was health ; 

His word a bond, his purse was wealth ; 

With wheat his field was covered o'er, 

Plenty sat smiling at his door. 

His wife the fount of ceaseless joy ; 

How laughed his daughter, played his boy ; 

His library, though large, was read, 

Till half its contents decked his head. 

At morn 'twas health, wealth, pure delight, 

*Twas health, wealth, peace, and bliss at night ; 

I wished not to disturb his bliss — 

Tis gone ! but all the fault was his* 



252 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

The social glass 1 saw him seize, 
The more with festive wit to please ; 
Daily increase his love of cheer — 
Ah, little thought he I was near ! 
Gradual indulgence on him stole, 
Frequent became the midnight bowl. 
I in that bowl the headache placed, 
Which, with the juice, his lips embraced 
Shame next I mingled with the draught ; 
Indignantly he drank and laughed. 

In the bowl's bottom bankruptcy 

I placed — he drank with tears and glee. 

Remorse did I into it pour ; 

He only sought the bowl the more. 

I mingled next joint torturing pain ; 

Little the less did he refrain. 

The dropsy in the cup I mixed ; 

Still to his mouth the cup was fixed 

My emissaries thus in vain 

I sent the mad wretch to restrain. 

On the bowl's bottom then myself 
I threw ; the most abhorrent elf 
Of all that mortals hate or dread ; 
And thus in horrid whispers said — 
" Successless ministers I've sent, 
Thy hastening ruin to prevent ; 
Their lessons nought — then here am ] 
Think not my threatenings to defy, 
Swallow this, this, thy last 'twill be, 
For with it thou must swallow me." 

Haggard his eyes, upright his hair, 
Remorse his lips, his cheeks despair ; 
With shaking hands the bowl he clasped. 
My meatless limbs his carcass grasped 
And bore it to the churchyard — where 
Thousands, ere I would call, repair. - 

Death speaks — ah, reader, dost thou hear ? 
Hast thou no lurking cause to fear ? 
Has not o'er thee the sparkling bowl 
Constant, commanding, sly control? 
Betimes reflect, betimes beware — 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. $53 

Though ruddy, healthful, now, and fair, 
Before slow reason lose the sway, 
Reform — postponed another day, 
Too soon may mix with common clay. 



Si. SOLILOQUY FROM MANFRED. Bj/TOfl. 

The spirits I have raised abandon me — 

The spells which I have studied baffle me— 

The remed\ r I recked of tortured me ; 

I lean no more on superhuman aid, 

It hath no power upon the past, and for 

The future, till the past be gulfed in darkness^ 

It is not of my search. My mother earth ! 

And thou, fresh breaking day ; and you, ye mountains* 

Why are ye beautiful ? I cannot love ye, 

And thou, the bright eye of the universe. 

That openest over all, and unto all 

Art a delight — thou shin est not on my heart 

And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge 

I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath 

Behold the tall pines dwindle as to shrubs 

In dizziness of distance ; when a leap, 

A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring 

My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed 

To rest for ever — wherefore do I pause ? 

I feel the impulse — yet I do not plunge ; 

1 see the peril— yet do not recede ; 

And my brain reels — and yet ray foot is firm i 

There is a power upon me which withholds 

And makes it my fatality to live : 

If it be life to wear within myself 

This barrenness of spirit, and to be 

My own soul's sepulchre, for I have ceased 

To justify my deeds unto myself — ■ 

The last infirmity of evil. Ay, 

Thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, 

[A?i eagle passes* 
Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, 
Well mayest thou swoop so near me- — I should be 
Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets ; thou art gone 
Where the eye cannot follow thee ; but thine 
Yet pierces downward, onward or above 
22 



254 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

With a pervading vision. — Beautiful! 

How beautiful is all this visible world! 

How glorious in its action and itself ! 

But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, 

Half dust, half deity, alike unfit 

To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make 

A conflict of its elements, and breathe 

The breath of degradation and of pride, 

Contending with low wants and lofty will 

Till our mortality predominates, 

And men are — what they name not to themselves, 

And trust not to each other. Hark ! the note, 

[ The shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard. 
The natural music of the mountain reed — 
♦For here the patriarchal days are not 
A pastoral fable — pipes in the liberal air, 
liiixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd ; 
My soul would drink those echoes. — Oh, that I were 
The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, 
A living voice, a breathing harmony, 
A bodiless enjoyment — born and dying 
With the blest tone which made me ! 



52. the power of ELOQUENCE. — Carey. 

Heard ye those loud contending waves, 

That shook Cecropia*s pillared state ? 
Saw ye the mighty from their graves 

Look up and tremble at her fate ? 
Who shall calm the angry storm ? 
Who the mighty task perform, 

And bid the raging tumult cease ? 
See the son of Hermes rise ; 
With syren tongue and speaking eyes, 

Hush the noise and soothe to peace ! 

Lo ! from the regions of the north, 
The reddening storm of battle pours ; 

Rolls along the trembling earth, 
Fastens on Olynthian towers. 

"Where rests the sword ! — where sleeps the brave * 
Awake ! Cecropia's ally save 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 254 

From the fury of the blast ; 
Burst the storm on Phocis' walls ; 
Rise ! or Greece for ever falls, 

Up ! or freedom breathes her last !" 

The jarring states obsequious now, 

View the patriot's hand on high ; 
Thunder gathering on his brow ; 

Lightning flashing from his eye ! 

Borne by the tide of words along, 

One voice, one mind, inspire the throng : 

" To arms ! to arms ! to arms !" they cry, 
" Grasp the shield, and draw the sword, 
Lead us to Philippi's lord, 

Let us conquer him — or die !" 

Ah eloquence ! thou wast undone ; 

Wast from thy native country driven, 
When tyranny eclipsed the sun, 

And blotted out the stars of heaven* 

When liberty from Greece withdrew, 
And o'er the Adriatic flew, 

To where the Tiber pours his urn, 
She struck the rude Tarpeian rock ; 
Sparks were kindled by the shock — 

Again thy fires began to burn ! 

Now shining forth, thou madest compliant, 

The conscript fathers to thy charms ; 
Roused the world-bestriding giant, 

Sinking fast in slavery's arms ! 

I see thee stand by freedom's fane, 
Pouring the persuasive strain, 

Giving vast conceptions birth: 
Hark ! I hear thy thunder's sound, 
Shake the forum round and round — 

Shake the pillars of the earth ! 

Firstborn of liberty divine ! 

Put on religion's bright array ; 
Speak ! and the starless grave shall shine, 

The portal of eternal day ! 



9fift UNITED STATES SPEAKER, 

Rise, kindling with the orient beam ; 
Let Calvary's hill inspire the theme ! 

Unfold the garments rolled in blood ! 
Oh touch the soul, touch all her chords, 
With all the omnipotence of words, 

And point the way to heaven — to God. 



53. Othello's address to the senate. — Shakspeare. 

Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors, 
My very noble and approved good masters ; 
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
It is most true ; true, I have married her ; — 
The very head and front of my offending 
Hath this extent — no more. Rude am I in speech, 
And little blessed with the set phrase of peace ; 
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 
Till now, some nine moons wasted, they have used 
Their dearest action in the tented field ; 
And little of this great world can I speak 
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle ; 
And, therefore, little shall I grace my cause, 
In speaking for myself ; yet by your patience, 
I will a round unvarnished tale deliver 
Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms, 
What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
(Far such proceeding I am charged withal,) 
I won his daughter with. 

Her father loved me ; oft invited me ; 
Still questioned me the story of my life, 
From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
That I have passed. 

I run it through, even from my boyish days, 
To the very moment that he bade me tell it. 
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances ; 
Of moving accidents, by flood and field ; 
Of hairbreadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach ; 
Of being taken by the insolent foe, 
And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence ;— 
Of battles bravely, hardly fought ; of victories, 
For which the conqueror mourned — so many fell ! 
Sometimes I told the story of a siege, 
Wherein I had to combat plagues and famine ; 
Soldierj unpaid ; fearful to fight, yet hold 
In dangerous mutiny* 



/ 

DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 257 

These things to hear 
Would Desdemona seriously incline : 
But still the house affairs would draw her thence ; 
Whichever as she could with haste dispatch, 
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse : which I observing, 
Took once a pliant hour ; and found good means 
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, — 
Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
But not distinctively. 

I did consent, 
And often did beguile her of her tears, 
When I did speak of some distressful stroke 
That my youth suffered. My slory being done, 
She gave me for my pains, a world of sighs ! 
She swore, "In faki 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful ;" 
She wished she had not heard it ; — yet she wished 
That heaven had made her such a man ; — she thanked me ; 
And bade me, if 1 had a friend that loved her, 
I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake. 
She loved me for the dangers I had past ; 
And I loved her that she did pity them. — 
This, only, is the witchcraft I have used. 



54. MOLOCH AND SATAN, BEFORE THE POWERS OF HELL.« 

White. 

One there was there, whose loud defying tongue 
Nor hope nor fear had silenced, but the swell 
Of overboiling malice. Utterance long 
His passion mocked and long he strove to tell 
His laboring ire ; still syllable none fell 
From his pale quivering lip, but died away 
For very fury ; from each hollow cell 
Half sprang his eyes, that cast a flamy ray. 

" This comes," at length burst from the furious chief, 
" This comes of dastard counsels ! Here behold 
The fruits of wily cunning ! the relief 
Which coward policy would fain unfold 
To soothe the powers that warred with heaven of old. 
Oh wise ! Oh potent ! Oh sagacious snare ! 

22* 



258 UNI £P STATES SPEAKER. 

And lo ! our prince — the mighty and the bold, 
There stands he, spell-struck, gaping at the air, 
While heaven subverts his reign and plants her standard 
there." 

Here as recovered, Satan fixed his eye 
Full on the speaker ; dark as it was stern ; 
He wrapped his black vest round him gloomily 
And stood like one whom weightiest thoughts concern. 
Him Moloch marked and strove again to turn 
His soul to rage. " Behold, behold," he cried, 
" The lord of hell, who bade these legions spurn 
Almighty rule — behold he lays aside 
The spear of just revenge, and shrinks, by man defied" 

Thus ended Moloch and his burning tongue 
Hung quivering as if mad to quench its heat 
In slaughter. So, his native wilds among, 
The famished tiger pants, when near his seat, 
Pressed on the sands, he marks the traveler's feet. 
Instant low murmurs rose, and many a sword 
Had from its scabbard sprung ; but toward the seat 
Of the arch-fiend, all turned with one accord, 
As loud he thus harangued the sanguinary horde : — 

M Ye powers of hell, I am no coward. I proved this of old. 
Who led your forces against the armies of Jehovah ? Who 
coped with Ithuriel, and the thunders of the Almighty ? Who, 
when stunned and confused ye lay on the burning lake, who first 
awoke and collected your scattered powers ? Lastly, who led 
you across the unfathomable abyss to this delightful world, and 
established that reign here which now totters to its base ? H^w, 
therefore, dares yon treacherous fiend to cast a stain on Satan's 
bravery ? He, who preys only on the defenseless — who sucks 
the blood of infants, and delights only in acts of ignoble cruelty 
and unequal contention ! Away with the boaster who never 
joins in action ; but, like a cormorant, hovers over the field, to 
feed upon the wounded and overwhelm the dying. True bravery 
is as remote from rashness as from hesitation. Let us counsel 
coolly, but let us execute our counseled purposes determinateiy. 
In power, we have learned by that experiment which lost us 
heaven, that we are inferior to the thunder-bearer : in subtlety 
— in subtelty alone, we are his equals. Open war is impossible 

Thus shall we pierce our conqueror through the raco 
Which, as himself, he loves ; thus, if we fall, 
W© fail not with the anguish, the disgrace 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 259 

Of falling unrcvenged. The stirring call 

Of vengeance rings within me ! Warriors all, 

The word is vengeance, and the spur despair. 

Away with coward wiles ! Death's coal-black pall 

Be now our standard ! Be our torch, the glare 

Of cities fired ! our fifes, the shrieks that fill the air !" 



55 DESCRIPTION OF AN ANCIENT BATTLE IN SCOTLAND.- 

Scott. 

At once there rose so wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell, 
As all the fiends from heaven that fell, 
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell ! 
Forth from the pass, in tumult driven, 
Like chaff before the wind of heaven, 

The archery appear ; 
For life ! for life ! their flight they ply ; 
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, 
And plaids and bonnets waving high, 
And broadswords flashing to the sky, 

Are maddening in their rear. 
Onward they drive in dreadful race 

Pursuers and pursued ; 
Before that tide of flight and chase 
How shall it keep its rooted place, 

The spearsman's twilight wood ? 
" Down, down," cried Mar, "your lances down! 

Bear back both friend and foe !" 
Like reeds before the tempest's frown, 
That serried grove of lances brown 

At once lay leveled low ; 
And closely shouldering side to side 
The bristling ranks the onset bide. 
" We'll quell the savage mountaineer, 

As their hunters cow the game ! 
They come as fleet as forest deer, 

We'll drive them back as tame." 
Bearing before them in their course, 
The relics of the archer force, 
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 
Right onward did Clan Alpine come. 
Above their tide each broadsword bright 
Waa brandishing like beam of light, 



260 DNITED STATES SPEAKEK. 

Each targe was dark below ; 

And with the ocean's mighty swing, 

When heaving to the tempest's wing 
They hurled them on the foe. 
I heard the lance's shivering crash, 
As when the whirlwind rends the ash ; 
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, 
As if a hundred anvils rang ; 
But Moray wheeled his rearward rank 
Of horsemen on Clan Alpine's flank — 

" My banner-men advance ! 
I see," he cried, " their column shake ; 
Now gallants ! for your ladies' sake, 

Upon them with the lance." 
The horsemen dashed among the rout, 

As deer break through the broom ; 
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, 

They soon make lightsome room. 
Clan Alpine's best are backward borne — 

Where, where was Rhoderic then 1 
One blast upon his bugle-horn 

Were worth a thousand men. 
And refluent through the pass of fear 

The battle's tide was poured ; 
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear, 

Vanished the mountain sword. 
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, 

Receives her roaring linn, 
As the dark caverns of the deep 

Suck the wild whirlpool in, 
So did the deep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass ; 
None linger now upon the plain, 
Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 



56. parrhasius. — Willis. 

"Parrhasius, a painter of Athens, amongst those Olynthian captives Philip of Macedos 
brought home to sell, bought one very old man ; and, when he had him at his house, 
put him to death with extreme torture and torment, the better by his example to ex- 
press the pains and passions of his Prometheus, whom he was then about to paint* 

Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully 
Upon his canvass. There Prometheus lay, 
Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus, 



DIDACTIC AXD RHETORICAL. 261 

The vulture at his vitals, and the links 

Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh ; 

And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim. 

Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows wild 

Forth with its reaching fancy, and with form 

And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye 

Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl 

Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip, 

Were like the winged god's breathing from his flight. 

" Bring me the captive now ! 
My hand feels skilful, and the shadows lift 
From my waked spirit airily and swift ; 

And I could paint the bow 
Upon the bended heavens — around me play 
Colors of such divinity to-day. 

Ha ! bind him on his back ! 
Look ! as Prometheus in my picture here — 
Quick — or he faints ! — stand with the cordial near! 

Now — bend him to the rack ! 
Press down the poisoned links into his flesh ! 
And tear agape that healing wound afresh ! 

So — let him writhe ! How long 
Will he live thus ? Quick, my good pencil, now! 
What a fine agony works upon his brow ! 

Ha ! gray -haired, and so strong ! 
How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! 
Gods ! if I could but paint a dying groan ! 

* Pity' thee ! So I do ! 
I pity the dumb victim at the altar — 
But does the robed priest for his pity falter ? 

I'd rack thee, though 1 knew 
A thousand lives were perishing in thine — 
What were ten thousand to a fame like mine ? 

Ah ! there's a deathless name ! — 
A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn, 
And, like a steadfast planet, mount and burn— 

And though its crown of flame 
Consumed my brain to ashes as it won me— <- 
By all the fiery stars ! I'd pluck it on me ! 



262 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Ay — though it bid me rifle 
My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst — 
Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first- - 

Though it should bid me stifle 
The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, 
And taunt its mother till my brain went wild — 

All — I would do it all — 
Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot ; 
Thrust foully in the earth to be forgot. 

Oh heavens — but I appall 
Your heart, old man ! — forgive — ha ! on your lives 
Let him not faint ! — raok him till he revives ! 

Vain — vain — give o'er. His eye 
Glazes apace. He does not feel you now — 
Stand back ! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow ! 

Gods ! if he do not die 
But for one moment — one — till I eclipse 
Conception with the scorn of those calm lips ! 

Shivering ! Hark ! he mutters 
Brokenly now — that was a difficult breath — 
Another ? Wilt thou never come, oh, Death ! 

Look ! how his temple flutters ! 
Is his heart still 1 Aha ! lift up his head ! 
He shudders — gasps — Jove help him — so — he's dead " 

How like a mountain devil in the heart 
Rules the unreined ambition ! Let it once 
But play the monarch, and its haughty brow 
Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought 
And unthrones peace for ever. Putting on 
The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns 
The heart to ashes, and with not a spring 
Left in the desert for the spirit's lip, 
We look upon our splendor and forget 
The thirst of which we perish ! 



57. MEETING OF SATAN AND DEATH AT THE GATE OF HELL 

— Milton. 

Meanwhile the adversary of God and man, 
Satan, with thoughts inflamed of highest design, 
Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 263 

Explores his solitary flight ! sometimes 

He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left 

Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars 

Up to the fiery concave towering high. 

As when far off at sea a fleet descried 

Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds 

Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles 

Of Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring 

Their spicy drugs ; they, on the trading flood, 

Through the wide Ethiopian to the cape, 

Ply stemming nightly toward the pole : so seemed 

Far off the flying fiend. At last appear 

Hell bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof, 

And thrice three-fold the gates : three folds were brass 

Three iron, three of adamantine rock 

Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire, 

Yet unconsumed. Before the gates there sat 

On either side a formidable shape ; 

The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair, 

But ended foul in many a scaly fold 

Voluminous and vast, a serpent armed 

With mortal sting ; about her middle round 

A cry of hell-hounds, never ceasing, barked 

With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung 

A hideous peal. Far less abhorred than these 

Vexed Scylla, bathing in the sea that parts 

Calabria from the hoarse Trinacrian shore : 

Nor uglier follow the nighthag, when, called 

In secret, riding through the air she comes, 

Lured with the smell of infant blood, to dance 

With Lapland witches, while the laboring moon 

Eclipses at their charms. The other shape, 

If shape it might be called that shape had none 

Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ; 

Or substance might be called that shadow seemed ; 

For each seemed either ; black it stood as night, 

Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, 

And shook a dreadful dart ; what seemed his head 

The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 

Satan was now at hand ; and from his seat 

The monster moving, onward came as fast 

With horrid strides ; hell trembled as he strode. 

The undaunted fiend what this might be admired, 

Admired, not feared ; God and his son except, 



264 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Created tiling naught valued he, nor shunned. 
And with disdainful look thus first began. 

" Whence, and what art thou, execrable shape ! 
That darest, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart my way 
To yonder gates 1 Through them I mean to pass, 
That be assured, without leave asked of thee : 
Retire or taste thy folly ; and learn by proof, 
Hellborn ! not to contend with spirits of heaven !" 

To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied, 
" Art thou that traitor angel, art thou he, 
Who first broke peace in heaven, and faith, till then 
Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 
Drew after him the third part of heaven's sons 
Conjured against the highest, for which both thou 
And they, outcast from God, are here condemned 
To waste eternal days in wo and pain ? 
And reckonest thou thyself with spirits of heaven, 
Hell-doomed ! and breathest defiance here and scorn* 
Where I reign king, and, to inflame thee more 
Thy king and lord ! Back to thy punishment, 
False fugitive ! and to thy speed add wings, 
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart 
Strange horror seize thee, and pangs imfelt before." 

So spake the grisly terror, and in shape, 
So speaking and so threatening, grew ten-fold 
More dreadful and deformed : on the other side, 
Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
Unterrified, and like a comet burned, 
That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 
In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head 
Leveled his deadly aim ; their fatal hands 
No second stroke intend ; and such a frown 
Each cast at the other, as when two black clouds 
With heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling an 
Over the Caspian, then stand front to front 
Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 
To join their dark encounter in mid air : 
So frowned the mighty combatants, that hell 
Grew darker at their frown ; so matched they stood ; 
For never but once more was either like 
To meet so great a foe : and now great deeds 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 265 

Had been achieved, whereof all hell had rung, 
Had not the snaky sorceress that sat 
Fast by hell-gate, and kept the fatal key, 
Risen, and with hideous outcry rushed between 



58. the passions. — Collins. 

When Music, heavenly maid ! was young,- 
While yet, in early Greece, she sung, 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Thronged around her magic cell ; 
Exulting — trembling — raging — fainting, — 
Possessed beyond the muse's painting : 
By turns, they felt the glowing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; 
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired : 
From the supporting myrtles round, 
They snatched her instruments of sound ; 
And, as they oft had heard, apart, 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
Each — (for madness ruled the hour — ) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 
Amid the chords bewildered laid ; 

And back recoiled, he knew not why, 
E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger rushed — his eyes, on fire, 
In lightnings owned his secret stings ; 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre — 
And swept with hurried hand, the strings. 

With woful measures, wan Despair — 
Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled ; 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 

'Twas sad, by fits — by starts, 'twas wild 

But thou, Oh Hope ! with eyes so fair, 
What was thy delighted measure ! 
Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
23 



266 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale. 
She called on Echo still through all her song ; 

And where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope, enchanted, smiled and waved her golden hair. 

And longer had she sung — but, with a frown, 

Revenge impatient rose. 
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, 
And, with a withering look, 
The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast, so loud and dread, 

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo ; 
And ever and anon, he beat 
The doubling drum with furious heat ; 
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
Dejected Pity, at his side, 
Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien ; 
While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his 
head. 

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed — 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ; 
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed ; 

And now it courted Love, now, raving, called on Hat* 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 

And, from her wild sequestered seat, 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 
Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul, 

And dashing soft from rocks around, 

Bubbling runnels joined the sound : 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measures stole, 
Or, o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay, 

(Round a holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace and lonely musing,) 
In hollow murmurs — died away. 

But, oh ! how altered was its sprightlier tone, 

When Cheerfulness — a nymph of healthiest hue— 
Her bow across her shoulder flung, 



DIDACTIC AND RHE'I ORICAL. 267 

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung !— 
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. 

The oak-crowned sisters and their chaste-eyed queen, 

Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, 

Peeping from forth their alleys green : 

Brown exercise rejoiced to hear, 

And sport leaped up and seized his beechen spear. 

Last came joy's ecstatic trial : — 
He with viny crown advancing, 
First to the lively pipe his hand addressed ; 

But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 
Whose sweet, entrancing voice he loved the best, 
They would have thought who heard the strain, 
They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, 
Amidst the festal-sounding shades, 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing : 
While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, 
Love framed with mirth a gay fantastic round, 
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,) 
And he, amidst his frolic play, 
As if he would the charming an* repay, 
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 



59. Alexander's feast. — Dryden. 

Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son. — 
Aloft, in awful state, 
The godlike hero sat 

On his imperial throne. 

His valiant peers were placed around, 
Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound ; 

So should desert in arms be crowned. 
The lovely Thais, by his side, 
Sat like a blooming eastern bride, 
In flower of youth, and beauty's pride. — 

Happy, happy, happy pair ! 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave, — deserves the fair 



268 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Timotheus, placed on high 

Amid the tuneful choir, 

With flying fingers touched the lyre : 
The trembling notes ascend the sky, 
And heavenly joys inspire. — 

The song began from Jove, 
Who left his blissful seat above — 
Such is the power of mighty love ! — 
A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode, 

When he to fair Olympia pressed, 
And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the worl 1! 
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound : 
" A present deity !" they shout around ; 
" A present deity !" the vaulted roofs rebound. — 

With ravished ears 

The monarch hears, 

Assumes the god, 

Affects to nod, 
And seems to shake the spheres ! 

The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung, 
Of Bacchus, ever fair and ever young! 

The jolly god in triumph comes ! 

Sound the trumpets ! beat the drums ! 
Flushed with a purple grace 
He shows his honest face. 
Now give the hautboys breath ! — he comes ! he comes ! 

Bacchus, ever fair and young, 

Drinking joys did first ordain : 

Bacchus's blessings are a treasure ; 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 

Rich the treasure ; 

Sweet the pleasure ; 
Sweet is pleasure after pain! 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 

Fought all his battles o'er again ; 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the 
slain ! 

The master saw the madness rise ; 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ! 

And, while he heaven and earth defied— 
Changed his hand and checked his pride. 



DIDACTIC AND RHETORICAL. 269 

He chose a mournful muse. 

Soft pity to infuse : 
He sang Darius, great and good, 

By too severe a fate, 

Fallen! fallen! fallen! fallen! 

Fallen from his high estate, 
And weltering in his blood ! 
Deserted in his utmost need 
By those his former bounty fed, 
On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
With not a friend to close his eyes ! 

With downcast looks the joyless victor sat, 
Revolving, in his altered soul, 

The various turns of fate below ; 
And, now and then, a sigh he stole, 

And tears began to flow. 

The mighty master smiled to see 
That love was in the next degree ; 
'Twas but a kindred strain to move ; 
For pity melts the soul to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 
Honor but an empty bubble ; 

Never ending, still beginning, 
Fighting still and still destroying. 

If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, Oh ! think it worth enjoying ; 

Lovely Thais sits beside thee ; 

Take the good the gods provide thee.— 
The many rend the skies v/ith loud applause, 
So love was crowned ; but music won the caa?»o. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 

Gazed on the fair 

Who caused his care, 
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, 
Sighed and looked, and sighed again : 
At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, 
The vanquished victor — sunk upon her breast. 

Now strike the golden lyre again ; 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ; 
Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 
23* 



270 UtflTED STATES SPEAKER. 

Hark ! hark ! — the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head, 
As awaked from the dead ; 
And, amazed he stares around. 
Revenge, revenge ! Timotheus cries — 
See the furies arise ! 
See the snakes that they rear, 
How they hiss in their hair, 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 
Behold a ghastly band, 
Each a torch in his hand ! 
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
And, unburied, remain 
Inglorious on the plain. 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew. 
Behold ! how they toss their torches on high, 
How they point to the Persian abodes, 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! 
The princes applaud, with a furious joy ! 
And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy : 
Thais led the way, 
To light him to his prey ; 
And, like another Helen — fired another Troy. 

Thus long ago, 

Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 

While organs yet were mute ; 

Timotheus, to his breathing flute 

And sounding lyre, 
Could swell the soul to rage— or kindle soft desire. 
At last, divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame. 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds. 
And added strength to solemn sounds, 
With nature's mother wit, and arts unknown before. 
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 

Or both divide the crown : 
He raised a mortal to the skies ; 

She drew an angel down. 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 



1. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENACHERIB. Byron. 

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen : 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, 
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. 

For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, 
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; 
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever were still! 

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, 
But through them there rolled not the breath of his pride 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the sjpray on the rock-beating surf. 

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail ; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners aione, 
Tne lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord 



2. THE FIELD OF GILBOA. KnOX. 

The sun of the morning looked forth from his throne, 
And beamed on the face of the dead and the dying ; 

For the yell of the strife, like the thunder, had flown, 
And red on Gilboa the carnage was lying. 



272 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

And there lay the husband that lately was prest 

To the beautiful cheek that was tearless and ruddy ; 

But the claws of the eagle were fixed in his breast, 
And the beak of the vulture was busy and bloody. 

And there lay the son of the widowed and sad, 
Who yesterday went from her dwelling for ever ; 

Now the wolf of the hills a sweet carnival had 

On the delicate limbs that had ceased not to quiver. 

And there came the daughter, the delicate child, 

To hold up the head that was breathless and hoary ; 

And there came the maiden, all frantic and wild, 
To kiss the loved lips that were gasping and gory. 

And there came the consort that struggled in vain 
To stem the red tide of a spouse that bereft her ; 

And there came the mother that sunk 'mid the slain, 
To weep o'er the last human stay that was left her. 

Oh ! bloody Gilboa, a curse ever lie 

Where the king and his people were slaughtered together , 
May the dew and the rain leave thy herbage to die, 

Thy flocks to decay, and thy forests to wither ! 



3. the shield.-— Moore. 

Oh ! did you not hear a voice of death ? 

And did you not mark the paly form 
Which rode on the silver mist of the heath, 

And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm ? 

Was it a wailing bird of the gloom, 

Which shrieks on the house of wo all night \ 

Or a shivering fiend that flew to a tomb, 

To howl and to feed till the glance of light ? 

Twas not the death-bird's cry from the wood, 
Nor shivering fiend that hung in the blast, 

Twas the shade of Helderic — man of blood — 
It screams for the guilt of days that are past ! 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 273 

See ! how the red, red lightning strays, 

And scares the gliding ghosts of the heath ! 

Now on the leafless yew it plays, 

Where hangs the shield of this son of death ! 

That shield is blushing with murderous stains , 
Long has it hung from the cold yew's spray ; 

It is blown by storms and washed by rains, 
But neither can take the blood away ! 

Oft by that yew on the blasted field, 

Demons dance to the red moon's light : 
While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging shield 

Sings to the raving spirit of night ! 



4. the child's first grief. — Hemans. 

" Oh call my brother back to me, 

I cannot play alone ! 
The summer comes with flower and bee, — - 

Where is my brother gone 1 

The butterfly is glancing bright 

Across the sunbeam's track ; 
I care not now to chase its flight — 

Oh call my brother back ! 

The flowers run wild — the flowers we sowed 

Around our garden tree ; 
Our vine is drooping with its load — 

Oh call him back to me !" 

"He would not hear my voice, fair child ! 

He may not come to thee ; 
The face that once like spring-time smiled, 

On earth no more thou'lt see. 

The rose's brief, bright light of joy, 

Such unto him was given ; 
Go, thou must play alone, my boy ! 

Thy brother is in heaven." 



274 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

" And has he left his birds and flowers ? 

And must I call in vain ? 
And through the long, long summer hours, 

Will he not come again ? 

And by the brook, and in the glade, 
Are all our wanderings o'er ? 

Oh ! while my brother with me played, 
Would I had loved him more." 



5. THE GIPSY WANDERER. AnOTiymOUS. 

'Twas night, and the farmer, his fireside near, 
O'er a pipe quaffed his ale, stout and old ; 
The hinds were in bed, when a voice struck his ear, 
" Let me in, I beseech you !" just so ran the prayer — 
" Let me in ! — I am dying with cold." 

To his servant, the farmer cried — " Sue, move thy feet, 

Admit the poor wretch from the storm ; 
For our chimney will not lose a jot of its heat, 
Although the night wanderer may there find a seat, 
And beside our wood embers grow warm." 

At that instant a gipsy-girl, humble in pace — 

Bent before him, his pity to crave : 
He, starting, exclaimed, " wicked fiend, quit this place! 
A parent's curse light on the whole gipsy race ! 

They have bowed me almost to the grave !" 

" Good sir, as our tribe passed the churchyard below, 

I just paused, the tuft graves to survey : — 
I fancied the spot where my mother lies low, 
When suddenly came on a thick fall of snow — 
And I know not a step of my way." 

w This is craft !" — cried the farmer, " If I judge aright, 
I suspect thy cursed gang may be near ; 

Thou wouldst open the doors to the ruffians of night ; 

Thy eyes o'er the plunder now rove with delight, 
And on me with sly treachery leer !" 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 275 

With a shriek — on the floor the young gipsy-girl fell ; 

" Help,'' cried Susan, " your child to uprear ! 
Your long stolen child ! — she remembers you well, 
And the terrors and joys in her bosom which swell, 

Are too mighty for nature to bear I" 



6. gi.enara. — Campbell. 

Oh ! heard you yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, 
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail ? 
'Tis the chief of Glenara, laments for his dear ; 
And her sire and her people are called to her bier. 

Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud ; 
Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud ; 
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around ; 
They marched all in silence — they looked to the ground. 

In silence they reached over mountain and moor, 
To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar ; 
" Now here let us place the gray-stone of her cairn ; — 
Why speak ye no word V said Glenara the stern. 

"And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse, 
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows V* 
So spake the rude chieftain : no answer is made, 
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger displayed. 

" I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her shroud," 
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud ; 
" And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem : 
Glenara ! Glenara ! now read me my dream !" 

Oh ! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween ; 
When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen : 
Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn — 
'Twas the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn.— 

" I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her grief, 
I dreamed that her lord was a barbarous chief; 
On the rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem : 
Glenara f Glenara ! now read me my dream !" 



276 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, 
And the desert revealed where his lady was found ; 
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne ; 
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn. 



THE SONG OF CONSTANCE. Scott. 

Where shall the lover rest, 

Whom the fates sever, 
From his true maiden's breast, 

Parted for ever 1 
Where through groves deep and high, 

Sounds the far billow, 
Where early violets die, 

Under the willow, 

Soft shall be his pillow. 
There, through the summer day, 

Cool streams are laving ; 
There, while the tempests sway, 

Scarce are boughs waving ; 
There, thy rest, shalt thou take, 

Parted for ever ; 
Never again to wake ; 

Never, oh never ! 

Where shall the traitor rest, 

He the deceiver, 
Who could win maiden's breast, 

Ruin and leave her ! 
In the lost battle, 

Borne down by the flying, 
Where mingles war's rattle, 

With groans of the dying, 

There shall he be lying. 
Her wing shall the raven flap, 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap 

Ere life be parted. 
Shame and dishonor sit 

By his grave ever : 
Blessings shall hallow it, — 

Never, oh never ! 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 277 



8. the orphan's dream. — Anonymous. 

Bereft of his kindred, Mohanoe had strayed 

To a land among strangers, far, far from his isle ; 

O'er whelming misfortune in ruins had laid 

Each heart-cheering prospect that once could beguile. 

One son, an affectionate darling, remained, 
To soothe his afflictions, his perils to share ; 

But scarce had Mohanoe the foreign shore gained, 
When he sunk to the grave, by the stroke of despair. 

All cheerless and lone was the orphan-boy left, 
No friends to protect him, or lighten his wo ; 

Of every dear joy was his bosom bereft, 
And agonized memory hung on his brow. 

'Twas night — and the orphan-boy sunk to repose ; 

On the tomb of his father the weary one slept : 
Yet bright were the visions that round him arose, 

And he smiled o'er the pillow where late he had wept. 

He thought of those days, when, a stranger to care, 

Through his dear native bowers he had carelessly roved ; 

The music of home sweetly struck on his ear — 
The voices of those he so dearly had loved. 

He smiled, as now near to the cottage he drew ; 

(For a soul-thrilling ecstasy raptured his mind) 
His bosom-loved friends to encircle him flew, 

And their arms, with affection, around him entwined. 

A sweet song of welcome they cheerfully sung, 
And joyful, he fancied he joined in the strain ; 

His sisters around him endearingly clung, 

And kissed him with transport again and again. 

" I am blest !" cried the dreamer ; — " yea blest is the hour ! 

These lovely caresses once more do I meet ; — 
Kind heaven ! I thank thy all-favoring power — 

Thou hast made every sense of enjoyment replete.* 
24 



278 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

But hark ! how the thunder now bursts o'er the sky! 

It breaks on the vision so dear to his view ; 
While the lightning's dread glare meets his terrified eye f 

Arid calls to his mind every horror anew. 

" Oh God !" he exclaimed, — " is all this but a dream ? 

Is memory awakened to terror and pain ? 
So fair was the vision, so bright did it seem, 

I thought in my soul thou hadst blessed me again.'* 

Though roused from his slumber, — again he reclines; 

He sinks on the tomb where so late he reposed ; 
No longer in sorrow his young heart repines, 

For death's icy lingers his eyelids have closed. 

He rests 'neath the shade of the cypress and yew : 
No sculpture attracts the lone passenger's eye ;— * 

Yet spring a fair tribute of flowers shall renew, 
Where his bones unlamented — but peacefully lie. 



9. HENRY FIRST, AFTER THE DEATH OF HIS SON. HcmMf. 

The bark that held the prince went down, 

The sweeping waves rolled on ; — 
And what was England's glorious crown 

To him that wept a son ? 
He lived — for life may long be borne, 

Ere sorrow breaks its chain ; 
Still comes not death to those who mourn ;— * 

He never smiled again ! 

There stood proud forms before his throne, 

The stately and the brave ; 
But which could fill the place of one, 

That one beneath the wave ? 
Before him passed the young and fair, 

In pleasure's reckless train ; 
But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair—* 

He never smiled again ! 

He sat. where festal bowls went round ; 

He heard the minstrel sing; 
He saw the tourney's victor crowned 

Amid the mighty ring ;— 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 279 

A murmur of the restless deep 

Mingled with every strain, 
A voice of winds that would not sleep : — 

He never smiled again ! 

Hearts in that time, closed o'er the trace 

Of vows once fondly poured ; 
And strangers took the kinsman's place 

At many a joyous board ; 
Graves, which true love had bathed with tears, 

Were left to heaven's bright rain ; 
Fresh hopes were born for other years :— 

He never smiled again ! 



0. HENRY FIFTH AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX. Southey 

To Henry's tent a hermit passed ; 

Their heads the soldiers bent 
In silent reverence, or they begged 

A blessing as they went : 
The king was seated all alone, 

The map before him lay ; 
Fresh conquests he was planning there 

To grace the future day. 

King Henry lifted up his eyes, 

The intruder to behold ; 
With reverence he the hermit saw, 

For the holy man was old. 
— " Repent thee, Henry, of the wrongs 

Which ihou hast done this land ; — 
Oh king ! repent in time, — for know 

The judgment is at hand. 

" I used to see along the stream 

The white sail gliding down, 
That wafted food, in better times, 

To yonder peaceful town. 
Henry, 1 never now behold 

The white sail sailing down ; 
famine, disease, and death, and thou 

Destroy that wretched town,. 



280 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

" I used to hear the traveler's voice, 

As here he passed along ; 
Or maiden's, as she loitered home, 

Singing her evening song. 
No traveler's voice may now be heard, - 

In fear he hastens by ; 
But I have heard the village maid 

In vain for succor cry. 

* I used to see the youths row down, 

And watch the dripping oar, 
As pleasantly their viol's tones 

Came softened to the shore. 
King Henry, many a blackened corpse 

I now see floating down ! — 
Thou bloody man ! repent in time, 

And leave this leaguered town." 

" I shall go on," king Henry cried, 

" And conquer this good land ; 
Seest thou not, hermit, that the Lord 

Hath given it to my hand l n 
The hermit heard king Henry speak, 

And angrily looked down ; — 
His face was gentle, and, for that, 

More solemn was his frown. 

" Thou conqueror king, repent in time, 

Or dread the coming wo ; 
For, Henry, thou hast heard the threat, 

And soon shall feel the blow !" 
King Henry forced a careless smile, 

As the hermit went his way ; 
But Henry soon remembered him 

Upon his dying day. 



11. THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. AnOUT/mOUS. 

The sun had just retired ; the dews of eve 

Their glow-worm lustre scattered o'er the vale ; 

The lonely nightingale began to grieve, 

Telling, with many a pause, her tenderest tale 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 281 

Twas then, where peasant footsteps marked the \rajt 

A wounded soldier feeblj tnorei along 
Nor aught regarded he the softening rsj 

Nor the melodious bird's expressive song. 

On crutches borne, his mangled limbs he drew, 

Unsightly remnants of the battle's rage; 
While pity, in his youthful form might view 

A helpless prematurity of age. 

Then, as with strange contortions, laboring slow 

He gained the summit of his native hill, 
And saw the well-known prospect spread below, 

The farm, the cot, the hamlet and the mill ; 

In spite of fortitude, one struggling sigh 

Shook the firm texture of his tortured heart ; 

And from his hollow and dejected eye 
One trembling tear hung ready to depart. 

• How changed," he cried, " is the fair scene to me, 

Since last across this narrow path I went ! 
The soaring lark felt not superior glee, 
Nor any human breast more true content. 

* Oh hapless day ! when, at a neighboring wake, 

The gaudy sergeant caught my wondering eye ; 
And as his tongue of war and honor spake, 
I felt a wish — to conquer or to die ! 

" Then, while he bound the ribands on my brow, 
He talk'd of captains kind, and generals good; 

Said, a whole nation would my fame avow, 
And bounty called the purchase of ray blood. 

H Yet I refused that bounty, — I disdained 

To sell my service in a righteous cause ; 
And such, (to my dull sense it was explained) 

The cause of monarchs, justice and the laws. 

" The rattling drums beat loud, the fifes began,— 
My king and country seem'd to ask my aidj 

Through every vein the thrilling ardor ran, — 
I left my humble cot, my village maid 
34 * 



282 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

" Oh hapless day ! torn from my Lucy's charms, 
I thence was hurried to a scene of strife, 

To painful marches, and the din of arms — 
The wreck of reason, and the waste of life. 

" In lothsome vessels now with crowds confined,— 
Now led with hosts to slaughter in the field ; — 

Now backward driven, like leaves before the wind, 
Too weak to stand, and yet ashamed to yield ; 

" Till oft-repeated victories inspired 
With tenfold fury the indignant foe ; 

Who ruthless still advanced as we retired, 
And laid our boasted, proudest honors low. 

" Through frozen deserts then compelled to fly, 
Our bravest legions moldered fast away ; — 

Thousands, of wounds and sickness left to die, — 
While hovering ravens marked them for their prey 

" Oh ! be this warfare of the world accursed !— - 
The son now weeps not on the father's bier ; 

But gray-haired, (for nature is reversed) 

Drops o'er his children's grave an icy tear." 

He spoke ; — and now by varying passions tossed, 
He reached the threshold of his father's shed ; 

Who knew not of his fate, yet mourned him lost 
Amid the number of the unnamed dead. 

Soon as they heard his well-remembered voice, 
A ray of rapture chased habitual care ; 

" Our Henry lives — we may again rejoice ;" — 
And Lucy sweetly blushed, for she was there 

But when he entered in such horrid guise 

His mother shrieked, and dropped upon the floor ■ 

His father looked to heaven with streaming eyes, 
And his dear Lucy sunk — to rise no more ! 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 283 



12. ANDREW JONES. WordsWOTtk. 

u I hate that Andrew Jones ; he'll breed 
His children up to waste and pillage ; 
I wish the press-gang or the drum, 
With its tantara sounds would come, 
And sweep him from the village !" 

I said not this, because he loves 
Through the long day to swear and tipple, 
But for the poor dear sake of one 
To whom a foul deed he had done, 
A friendless man — a traveling cripple ! 

For this poor crawling, helpless wretch, 
Some horseman who was passing* by, 

A penny on the ground had thrown ; 

But the poor cripple was alone 
And could not stoop — no help was nigh. 

Inch thick the dust lay on the ground, 
For it had long been droughty weather, 
So with his staff, the cripple wrought 
Among the dust, till he had brought 
The half-pennies together. 

It chanced that Andrew passed that way, 
Just at the time ; and there he found 
The cripple at the midday heat, 
Standing alone, and at his feet 
He saw the penny on the ground. 

He stooped and took the penny up, 
And when the cripple nearer drew, 
Quoth Andrew, " under half a crown 
What a man finds is all his own, 
And so my friend, good day to you." 

And hence I said that Andrew's boys 
Will all be trained to waste and pillage ; 
And wished the press-gang or the drum, 
With its tantara sounds would come, 
And sweep him from the village. 



884 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



13. THE WIDOWED MOTHER. Wils&tt. 

Beside her babe, who sweetly slept, 
A widowed mother sat and wept 

O'er years of love $rone by ; 
And as the sobs thick-gatnering came, 
She murmured her dead husband's name 

'Mid that sad lullaby. 

Well might that lullaby be sad, 
For not one single friend she had 

On this cold-hearted earth : 
The sea will not give back its prey,-^- 
And they were wrapt in foreign clay 

Who gave the orphan birth. 

Steadfastly as a star doth look 
Upon a little murmuring brook, 

She gazed upon the bosom 
And fair brow of her sleeping son — 
14 Oh merciful heaven ! when 1 am gone, 

Thine is this earthly blossom." 

While thus she sat, a sunbeam broke 
Into the room : — the babe awoke, 

And from his cradle smiled I 
Ah me ! what kindling smiles met there ! 
1 knew not whether was more fair, 

The mother or the child ! 

With joy fresh-sprung from short alarms, 
The smiler stretched his rosy arms, 

And to her bosom leapt — 
All tears at once were swept away, 
And said a face as bright as day, 

" Forgive me ! that I wept J" 

Sufferings there are from nature sprung, 
Ear hath not heard, nor poet's tongue 

May venture to declare ; 
But this, as holy writ, is sure — 
The griefs she bids us here endure 

She can herself repair ! 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 285 



14. the mother and child. — Abercrombie 

Twas on a cliff whose rocky base 

Baffled the briny wave ; 
Whose cultured heights their verdant store 

To many a tenant gave ; 

A mother, led by rustic cares, 
Had wandered with her child ; 

Unweaned the babe, yet on the grass 
He frolicked and he smiled. 

With what delight the mother glowed 

To mark her infant joy, 
How oft would pause, amid her toil, 

To view her beauteous boy. 

At length, by other cares estranged, 
Her thoughts the child forsook ; 

Careless, he wandered o'er the grass, 
Nor drew his mother's look. 

Cropt was each flower that caught his eye, 
When wandering o'er the green ; 

He reached the cliff's uncertain edge 
And pleased, surveyed the scene. 

Twas then, the mother from her toil 

Turned, to behold her child — 
The urchin gone ! her cheek was flushed, 

Her wandering eye was wild. 

She saw him on the cliff's rude brink 

Now careless peeping o'er ; 
He turned, and on his mother smiled, 

Then sported as before. 

Sunk was her voice, 'twas vain to fly, 
'Twas vain the brink to brave ; 

Oh ! nature it was thine alone 
To prompt the means to save. 



UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

She tore the kerchief from her breast 

And laid her bosom bare : 
He saw, delighted, left the cliff 

And sought the banquet there. 



15. the orphan. — Anonymous. 

I have no mother ! — for she died 

When 1 was very young, 
But her memory still, around my heart, 

Like morning mists has hung. 

They tell me of an angel form 
That watched me while I slept, 

And of a soft and gentle hand 
That wiped the tears 1 wept. 

And that same hand that held my own 

When 1 began to walk, 
And the joy that sparkled in h*r eyas 

When first 1 tried to talk ; — 

For they say the mothers heart i* r>Wse4 
When infant charms expand- — 

I wonder if she thinks of me 
In that bright happy land : 

For I know she is in heaven now — 

That holy place of rest — 
For she was always good to me 

And the good alone are blest. 

[ remember, too, when I was ill, 
She kissed my burning brow ; 

\nd the tear that fell upon my choc|r* 
I think I feel it now. 

Ajid I have still some little books 
She learned me how to spell ; 

And the chiding, or the kiss she gave 
I still remember well. 

And then she used to kneel with me, 
And teach me how to pray* 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 38? 

And raise my little hands to heaven* 
And tell me what to say. 

Oh, mother ! mother ! in my heart 

Thy image still shall be, 
And I will hope in heaven at last 

That 1 may meet with thee. 



16. mother, what is death? — Anonymous. 

" Mother, how still the baby lies ! 

I cannot hear his breath ; 
I cannot see his laughing eyes — 

They tell me this is death. 

My little work I thought to bring* 

And sat down by his bed, 
And pleasantly 1 tried to sing — 

They hushed me — he is dead. 

They say that he again will rise, 

More beautiful than now, — 
That God will bless him in the skies-** 

Oh, mother, tell me how !* 

" Daughter, do you remember, dear, 
The cold, dark thing you brought, 

And laid upon the casement here,— 
A withered worm, you thought ? 

I told you that Almighty power 
Could break that withered shell, 

And show you, in a future hour, 
Something would please you well. 

Look at the chrysalis, my love,— 

An empty shell it lies : — 
Now raise your wandering glance above ? 

To where yon insect flies '" 

" Oh, yes, mamma ! how very gay 

Its wings of starry gold — 
And see ! it lightly flies away 

Beyond my gentle hold 1 



288 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Oh, mother, now I know full well— 
If God that worm can change, 

And draw it from this broken cell, 
On golden wings to range, 

How beautiful will brother be, 
When God shall give him wings, 

Above this dying world to flee, 
And live with heavenly things !" 



17. casabianca. — Hemans. 

Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the admiral of the Orient, 
remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, ana 
all the guns had been abandoned, and perished in the explosion of tho vessel, when 
the flames had reached the powder. 

The boy stood on the burning deck 

Whence all but him had fled ; 
The flame that lit the battle's wreck, 

Shone round him o'er the dead. 

Yet beautiful and bright he stood, 

As bom to rule the storm ; 
A creature of heroic blood, 

A proud though childlike form. 

The flames rolled on — he would not go, 

Without his father's word ; 
That father, faint in death below, 

His voice no longer heard. 

He called aloud : — " say, father, say 

If yet my task is done ?" 
He knew not that the chieftain lay 

Unconscious of his son. 

" Speak, father !" once again he cried, 

" If I may yet be gone ! 
And" — but the booming shots replied — 

And fast the flames rolled on. 

Upon his brow he felt their breath, 
And in his waving hair, 



PATHETIC AND ENTLRTAItf.NG. ^39 

And looked from that lone post of death, 
In still, yet brave despair. 

And shouted but once more aloud, 

" My father ! must I stay ?" 
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud. 

The wreathing fires made way. 

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, 

They caught the flag on high, 
And streamed above the gallant child, 

Like banners in the sky. 

There came a burst of thunder sound— 

The boy — oh ! where was he ? 
Ask of the winds that far around 

With fragments strewed the sea. 

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, 

That well had borne their part- — 
But the noblest thing that perished there, 

Was that young faithful heart. 



18. the battle op busaco. — -Anonymous. 

Beyond Busaco's mountains dun, 
When far had rolled the sultry sun, 
And night her pall of gloom had thrown 
On nature's still convexity ! 

High on the heath our tents were spread, 
The cold turf was our cheerless bed, 
And o'er the hero's dew-chilled head 

The banners flapped incessantly* 

The loud war-trumpet woke the morn, 
The quivering drum, the pealing horn,— 
From rank to rank the cry is borne, 

" Arouse, for death or victory !* 

The orb of day, in crimson dye, 
Began to mount the morning sky ; 
Then, what a scene for warrior's eye 
Hung on the bold declivity ! 
25 



290 UN i TED STATES SPEAKER, 

The serried bayonets glittering stood, 
Like icicles, on hills of blood ; 
An aerial stream, a silver wood, 

Reeled in the flickering canopy. 

Like waves of ocean rolling fast, 
Or thunder-cloud before the blast, 
Massena's legions, stern and vast, 

Rushed to the dreadful revelry. 

The pause is o'er ; the fatal shock 
A thousand thousand thunders woke : 
The air grows sick ; the mountains rock ; 
Red ruin rides triumphantly. 

Light boiled the war-cloud to the sky, 
In phantom towers and columns high, 
But dark and dense their bases lie, 

Prone on the battle's boundary- 

The thistle waved her bonnet blue, 
The harp her wildest war-notes threw, 
The red rose gained a fresher hue, 
Busaco, in thy heraldry. 

Hail, gallant brothers ! Wo befall 
The foe that braves thy triple wall ! 
Thy sons, Oh wretched Portugal ! 

Roused at their feats of chivalry. 



19. pulaski's banner. — Anonymous. 

T!i« standard of count Pulaski, the noble Pole, who fell in the attack on Savannah, 
during the American revolution, was of crimson silk, embroidered by the Moravian 
nuns of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. 

When the dying flame of day, 

Through the chancel shot its ray, 

Far the glimmering tapers shed 

Faint light on the cowled head, 

And the censer burning swung, 

Where before the altar hung 

That round banner, which, with prayer, 

Had been consecrated there ; 

And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the. while 

Sung low, in the deep mysterious aisle 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 291 

Take thy banner. May it wave 
Proudly o'er the good and brave, 
When the battle's distant wail 
Breaks the Sabbath of our vale, 
When the clarion's music thrills 
To the hearts of these lone hills, 
When the spear in conflict shakes, 
And the strong lance shivering breaks. 

Take thy banner ; and beneath 
The war-cloud's encircling wreath 
Guard it till our hemes are free, 
Guard it — God will prosper thee ! 
In the dark and trying hour, 
In the breaking forth of power, 
In the rush of steeds and men, 
His right hand will shield thee thea. 

Take thy banner. But when night 

Closes round the ghastly fight, 

If the vanquished warrior bow, 

Spare him ; by our holy vow, 

By our prayers and many tears, 

By the mercy that endears, 

Spare him ; he our love hath shared, 

Spare him ; as thou wouldst be spared. 

Take thy banner ; and if e'er 
Thou shouldst dress the soldier's bier, 
And the muffled drum should beat 
To the tread of mournful feet, 
Then, this crimson flag shall be 
Martial cloak and shroud for thee. 
And the warrior took that banner proud, 
And it was his martial cloak and shroud. 



20. david's lament over absalom. — Willis. 

The king stood still 
Till the last echo died : then, throwing off 
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back 
The pall from the still features of his child. 



$02 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth 
In the resistless eloquence of wo :- — 

" Alas ! my noble boy ! that thou shouldst die * 
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair ! 

That death should settle in thy glorious eye, 
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair ? 

How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, 
My proud boy, Absalom ! 

Cold is thy brow, my son ! and I am cniil, 
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee. 

How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, 

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, 

And hear thy sweet — c my father,' from these dumb 
And cold lips, Absalom ! 

The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush 
Of music, and the voices of the young ; 

And life will pass me in the mantling blush, 
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung ; — 

But thou no more, with thy sweet voice shall com© 
To meet me, Absalom ! 

But, oh ! when I am stricken, and my heart, 
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, 

How will its love for thee, as I depart, 

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token ! 

It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, 
To see thee, Absalom ! 

And now farewell ! Tis hard to give thee up, 
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee :— 

And thy dark sin ! — Oh ! 1 could drink the cup, 
If from this wo its bitterness had won thee. 

May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home 
My erring Absalom !" 

He covered up his face, and bowed himself 
A moment on his child : then, giving him 
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped 
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer ; 
And, as a strength were given him of God, 
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall 
Firmly and decently, and left him there, 
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. 



FATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 293 



21. the dead sister. — Anonymous. 

" Mamma, now you must love me more, 

For little sister's dead ; 
And t'other sister died before, 

And brother too, you said. 

Mamma, what made sweet sister die T 
She loved me when we played ; 

You told me if I would not cry, 
You'd show me where she's laid." 

" Tis here, my child, that sister lies, 

Deep buried in the ground : 
No light comes to her little eyes, 

And she can hear no sound." 

" Mamma, why can't we take her up, 

And put her in my bed ? 
I'll feed her from my little cup, 

And then she won't be dead. 

For sister '11 be afraid to lie 

In this dark grave to-night, 
And she'll be very cold and cry, 

Because there is no light." 

" No, sister is not cold, my child ; 

For God, who saw her die, 
As he looked down from heaven and smiled 

Recalled her to the sky. 

And then her spirit quickly fled 
To God, by whom 'twas given ; 

Her body in the ground is dead, 
But sister lives in heaven." 

" Mamma, won't she be hungry there, 

And want some bread to eat ? 
And who will give her clothes to wear, 

And keep them clean and neat ? 

Papa must go and carry some ; 
I'll send her all I've got : 
25* 



294 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

And be must bring sweet sister borne, 
Mamma, now must he not V 9 

" No, my dear child, that cannot be ; 

But if you're good and true, 
You'll orte day go to her ; but she 

Can never come to you. 

* Let little children come to me/ 
Once our good Savior said, 

And in his arms she'll always be, 
And God will give her bread." 



22. arnold winkelried. — Montgomery. 

" Make way for liberty !" — he cried ; 
Made way for liberty, and died ! — 

It must not be : this day, this hour, 
Annihilates the oppressor's power ! 
All Switzerland is in the field, 
She will not fly, she cannot yield — 
She must not fall ; her better fate 
Here gives her an immortal date 
Few were the numbers she could boast ; 
But every freeman was a host, 
And felt as though himself were he, 
On whose sole arm hung victory. 

It did depend on one indeed ; 
Behold him — Arnold Winkelried ! 
There sounds not to the trump of fame 
The echo of a nobler name 
Unmarked he stood amid the throng, 
In rumination deep and long, 
Till you might see, with sudden grace, 
The very thought come o'er his face ; 
And, by the motion of his form, 
Anticipate the bursting storm ; 
And, by the uplifting of his brow, 
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. 

But 'twas no sooner thought than done ! 
The field was in a moment won : — 

Make way for liberty !" he cried, 
Then ran, with arms extended wide, 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING, 295 

As if his dearest friend to clasp ; 
Ten spears he swept within his grasp : 
" Make way f or liberty !" he cried, 
Their keen points met from side to side ; 
He bowed amongst them like a tree, 
And thus made way for liberty. 

Swift to the breach his comrades fly; 
" Make way for liberty !" they cry, 
And through the Austrian phalanx dart, 
As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart ; 
While instantaneous as his fall, 
Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all : 
An earthquake could not overthrow 
A city with a surer blow. 

Thus Switzerland again was free ; 
Thus death made way for liberty ! 



23. FROM L^LLA ROOKH. MoOTC 

But see — he starts — what heard he then ? 

That dreadful shout ! — across the glen 

From the land-side it comes, and loud 

Rings through the chasm ; as if the crowd 

Of fearful things, that haunt that dell, 

Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of hell, 

Had all in one dread howl broke out, 

So loud, so terrible that shout ! 

" They come — the Moslems come !" he cries, 

His proud soul mounting to his eyes, — 

" Now spirits of the brave, who roam 

Enfranchised through yon starry dome, 

Rejoice — for souls of kindred fire 

Are on the wing to join your choir !" 

He said — and, light as bridegrooms bound 

To their young loves, re-climbed the steep 
And gained the shrine — his chiefs stood round- 

Their swords, as with instinctive leap, 
Together, at that cry accurst, 
Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst, 
And hark ! — again — again it rings ; 
Near and more near its echoings 
Peal through the chasm — Oh ! who that then 
Had seen those listening warrior-men, 



296 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

With their swords grasped, their eyes of flame 
Turned on their chief — could doubt the shame, 
The indignant shame with which they thrill 
To hear those shouts and yet stand still ? 
He read their thoughts — they were his own — 

" What ! while our arms can wield these blades. 
Shall we die tamely ? die alone ? 

Without one victim to our shades, 
One Moslem heart, where, buried deep, 
The sabre from its toil may sleep ! 
No — God of Iran's burning skies ! 
Thou scorn'st the inglorious sacrifice. 
No — though of all earth's hope bereft, 
Life, swords, and vengeance still are left 
We'll make yon valley's reeking caves 

Live in the awestruck minds of men, 
Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves 

Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen. 
Follow, brave hearts ! — this pile remains 
Our refuge still from life and chains ; 
But his the best, the holiest bed, 
Who sinks entombed in Moslem dead !" 



24. LOCHINVAR. Scott. 

Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of the west ! 
Through all the wide border his steed was the best ! 
And save his good broadsword he weapon had none, 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none : 

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So, boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all : 
Then, spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 



ATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 297 

" Oil come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
Or to dance at our bridal, young lord Lochinvar f 

" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; — 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine ; — 
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up, 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup ; 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
" Now tread we a measure !" said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; 

And the bridemaidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far 

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 

When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near , 

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! — 

" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush and scaur ; 

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Grsemes of the Netherby clan ; 

Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : 

There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant, like young Lochinvar ! 



25. the revelers. — Anonymous. 

There were sounds of mirth and joyousness 

Broke forth in the lighted hall, 
And there was many a merry laugh, 

And many a merry call ; 



298 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

And the glass was freely passed around, 
And the nectar freely quaffed ; 

And many a heart felt light with glee 
And the joy of the thrilling draught. 

A voice arose in that place of mirth, 

And a glass was flourished high ; 
" I drink to life," said a son of earth, 

" And I do not fear to die ; 
I have no fear — I have no fear — 

Talk not of the vagrant death ; 
For he is a grim old gentleman, 

And he wars but with his breath. 

Cheer, comrades, cheer ! We drink to life, 

And we do not fear to die !" 
Just then a rushing sound was heard, 

As of spirits sweeping by ; 
And presently the latch flew up, 

And the door flew open wide ; 
And a stranger strode within the hall, 

With an air of martial pride. 

He spoke : " I join in your revelry, 

Bold sons of the bacchan rite ; 
And I drink the toast you have drank before, 

The pledge of your dauntless knight. 
Fill high — fill high — we drink to life, 

And we scorn the reaper death ; 
For he is a grim old gentleman, 

And he wars but with his breath. 

He's a noble soul, that champion knight, 

And he bears a martial brow ; 
Oh, he'll pass the gates of paradise, 

To the regions of bliss below !" 
This was too much for the bacchan ; 

Fire flashed from his angry eye ; 
A muttered curse, and a vengeful oath — 

" Intruder, thou shalt die !" 

He struck — and the stranger's guise fell off 
And a phantom form stood there — 

A grinning, and ghastly, and horrible thing. 
With rotten and mildewed hair I 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 299 

And they struggled awhile, till the stranger blew 

A blast of his withering breath ; 
And the bacchanal fell at the phantom's feet, 

And his conqueror was — death ! 



26. the boy and snake. — Leicester. 

Henry was every morning fed 

With a full mess of milk and bread. 

One day the boy his breakfast took, 

And ate it by a purling brook. 

His mother lets him have his way — 

With free leave, Henry every day 

Thither repairs, until she heard 

Him talking of a fine gray bird. 

This pretty bird, he said, indeed, 

Came every day with him to feed, 

And it loved him, and loved his milk, 

And it was smooth and soft like silk. 

On the next morn she follows Harry, 

And carefully she sees him carry 

Through the long grass his heaped-up mess — 

What was her terror and distress, 

When she saw the infant take 

His bread and milk — close to a snake ! 

Upon the grass he spreads his feast, 

And sits down by his frightful guest, 

Who had waited for the treat ; 

And now they both began to eat. 

Fond mother ! shriek not, Oh beware 

The least small noise ! Oh have a care ! 

The least small noise that may be made, 

The wily snake will be afraid — 

If he hear the slightest sound, 

He will inflict the envenomed wound. 

— She speaks not, moves not, scarce does breathe, 

As she stands the trees beneath. 

No sound she utters ; and she soon 

Sees the child lift up his spoon, 

And tap the snake upon the head, 

Fearless of harm ; and then he said, 

As speaking to familiar mate, 

" Keep on your own side, do, Gray Pate : w 

The snake then to the other side, 

As one rebuked, seems to glide ; 



300 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

And now again, advancing nigh, 
Again she hears the infant cry, 
Tapping the snake, " Keep further, do ; 
Mind, Gray Pate, what I say to you." 
The danger's o'er, she sees the boy 
(Oh, what a change from fear to joy !) 
Rise and bid the snake " good by ;" 
Says he, " Our breakfast's done, and I 
Will come again to-morrow day ;" 
Then lightly tripping, ran away. 



27. the orphan boy. — Thelwall. 

Alas ! I am an orphan boy, 

With nought on earth to cheer my heart ; 
No father's love, no mother's joy, 

Nor kin nor kind to take mj part. 
My lodging is the cold, cold ground ; 

I eat the bread of charity ; 
And when the kiss of love goes round 

There is no kiss, alas ! for me. 

Yet once I had a father dear, 

A mother too I wont to prize, 
With ready hand to wipe the tear, 

If chanced a transient tear to rise. 
But cause of tears was rarely found, 

For all my heart was youthful glee ; 
And when the kiss of love went round, 

How sweet a kiss there was for me ' 

But ah ! there came a war they say, 

What is a war, I cannot tell ; 
But drums and fifes did sweetly play, 

And loudly rang our village-bell. 
In truth it was a pretty sound 

I thought, nor could I once foresee 
That when the kiss of love went round, 

There soon would be no kiss for me. 

A scarlet coat my father took, 

And sword as bright as bright could be 7 
And feathers, that so gaily look, 

All in a shining cap had he. 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 30] 

Then how my little heart did bound ; 

Alas ! I thought it fine to see ; 
Nor dreamt that when the kiss went round, 

There soon would be no kiss for me. 

At length the bell again did ring ; 

There was a victory, they said ; 
'Twas what my father said he'd bring; 

But ah ! it brought my father dead. 
My mother shrieked ; her heart was wo : 

She clasped me to her trembling knee. 
Oh God ! that you may never know 

How wild a kiss she gave to me ' 

But once again — but once again, 

These lips a mother's kisses felt. 
That once again — that once again — 

The tale a heart of stone would melt — 
'Twas when, upon her death-bed laid, 

Oh God ! Oh God ! that sight to see ! 
H My child ! — my child !" she feebly said, 

And gave a parting kiss to me. 



28. the dying brigand. — Anonymous. 

She stood before the dying man, 

And her eye grew wildly bright — 
" Ye will not pause for a woman's ban, 

Nor shrink from a woman's might ; 
And his glance is dim that made you fly, 

As ye before have fled : — 
Look, dastards ! — how the brave can die — 

Beware !— he is not dead ! 

By his blood you have tracked him to his lair !- 

Would you bid the spirit part ? — 
lie that durst harm one single hair 

Must reach it through my heart. 
[ cannot weep, for my brain is dry — 

Nor plead, for I know not how ; 
But my aim is sure, and the shaft may fly,-— 

And the bubbling life-blood flow ! 
26 



302 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Yet leave me, while dim life remains, 

To list his parting sigh ; 
To kiss away those gory stains, 

To close his beamless eye ! 
Ye will not ! no — he triumphs still, 

Whose foes his death-pangs dread — 
His was the power — yours but the will 

Back — back — he is not dead ! 

His was the power that held in thrall, 

Through many a glorious year, 
Priests, burghers, nobles, princes, all 

Slaves worship, hate, or fear. 
Wrongs, insults, injuries thrust him forth 

A bandit chief to dwell ; 
How he avenged his slighted worth, 

Ye, cravens, best may tell ! 

His spirit lives in the mountain breath, 

It flows in the mountain wave ; 
Rock — stream — hath done the work of deatl. 

Yon deep ravine — the grave ! — 
That which hath been again may be ! — 

Ah ! by yon fleeting sun, 
Who stirs, no morning ray shall see — 

His sand of life has run !" 

Defiance shone in her flashing eye, 

But her heart beat wild with fear ; — 
She starts — the bandit's last faint sigh 

Breathes on her sharpened ear — 
She gazes on each stiffening limb, 

And the death-damp chills her brow ; — 
11 For him I lived — 1 die with him ! 

Slaves, do your office now !" 



29. THE VULTURE OF THE ALPS. AnOTiymOUS. 

['i e been among the mighty Alps, and wandered thro' their vale», 
And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales, 
As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work was 

o'er, 
They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er were heard 

of more 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 303 

And tli*»e I, from a shepherd, heard a narrative of fear, 
A tale Uj rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear : 
The tea*s were standing in his eyes, his voice was tremulous; 
But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus : — 

14 It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells, 
Who never fattens on the prey which from afar he smells , 
But, patient, watching hour on hour, upon a lofty rock, 
He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock. 

One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising high. 
When, from my children on the green, I heard a fearful cry, 
As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief and pain, 
A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again. 

I hurried out to learn the cause ; but overwhelmed with fright, 
The children never ceased to shriek, and from my frenzied signi 
I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care ; 
But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing thro* 
the air. 

Oh ! what an awful spectacle to meet a father's eye, — 
His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry; 
And know, with agonizing heart., and with a maniac rave, 
That earthly power could not avail that innocent to save ! 

My infant stretched his little hands imploringly to me, 
And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly to get free : 
At intervals I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked aud 

screamed ! 
Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed. 

The vulture flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily he flew ; 
A mote, upon the sun's broad face, he seemed unto my view ; 
But once I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight, — 
'Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite. 

All search was vain, and years had passed ; that child was 

ne'er forgot, 
When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot, 
From thence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never reached, 
He saw an infant's fleshless bones the elements had bleached ! 

I clambered up that rugged cliff, — I could not stay away — 
I knew they were my infant's bones thus hastening to decay 



304 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to many a shred ; 
The crimson cap he wore that morn was still upon his head." 

That dreary spot is pointed out to travelers passing by, 
Who often stand, and musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh. 
And as I journeyed the next morn, along my sunny way, 
The precipice was shown to me whereon the infant lay. 



30. ginevra. — Rogers. 

She was an only child, her name Ginevra, 
The joy, the pride of an indulgent father ; 
And in her fifteenth year became a bride, 
Marrying an only son, Francisco Doria, 
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. 

She was all gentleness, all gaiety, 
Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue. 
But now the day was come, the day, the hour ; 
Now frowning, smiling for the hundredth time, 
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum ; 
And in the lustre of her youth she gave 
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francisco. 

Great was the joy ; but at the nuptial feast, 
When all sat down, the bride herself was wanting, 
Nor was she to be found ! Her father cried, 
" 'Tis but to make a trial of our love !" 
And filled his glass to all ; but his hand shook, 
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. 

'Twas but that instant she had left Francisco, 
Laughing and looking back and flying still, 
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his ringer ; 
But, now, alas she was not to be found ; 
Nor from that hour could any thing be guessed, 
But that she was not ! 

Weary of his life, 
Francisco flew to Venice, and embarking, 
Flung it away in battle with the Turk. 
The father lived, and long might you have seen 
An old man wandering as in quest of something ; 
Something he could not find, he knew not what. 
When he was gone the house remained awhile 
Silent and tenantless — then went to strangers 
Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 305 

When on an idle day, a day of search, 

'Mid the old lumber in the gallery, 

That moldering chest was noticed, and 'twas said 

By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra ; 

" Why not remove it from its lurking place ?" 

'Twas done as soon as said, but on the way 

It burst, it fell ; and lo, a skeleton, 

With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone, 

A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold. 

All else had perished — save a wedding ring 

And a small seal, her mother's legacy, 

Engra\en with a name, the name of both, " Ginevrt ' 

There then she had found a grave ! 
Within that chest — had she concealed herself, 
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy, 
When a spring lock that lay in ambush there, 
Fastened her down for ever ! 



3L CELADON AND AMELIA. Thompson. 

Young Celadon 
And his Amelia were a matchless pair ; 
With equal virtue formed, and equal grace ; 
The same, distinguished by their sex alone ; 
Hers the mild lusture of the blooming morn, 
And his the radiance of the risen day. 

They loved ; but such their guileless passion was, 
As in the dawn of time informed the heart 
Of innocence and undissembling truth. 
'Twas friendship heightened by the mutual wish ; 
The enchanting hope, and sympathetic glow, 
Beamed from the mutual eye. Devoting all 
To love, each was to each a dearer self ; 
Supremely happy in the awakened power 
Of giving joy. Alone, amid the shades, 
Still in harmonious intercourse they lived 
The rural day, and talked the flowing heart, 
Or sighed, and looked unutterable things. 

So passed their life, a clear united stream, 
By care unruffled ; till, in evil hour, 
The tempest caught them on the tender walk, 
Heedless how far, and where its mazes strayed, 
W T hile, with each other blest, creative love 
26* 



306 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Still bade eternal Eden smile around. 
Presaging instant fate her bosom heaved 
Unwonted sighs, and stealing oft a look 
Towards the big gloom, on Celadon her eye 
Fell tearful, wetting her disordered cheek. 
In vain assuring love, and confidence 
In heaven, repressed her fear ; it grew, and shook 
Her frame near dissolution. He perceived 
The unequal conflict, and as angels look 
On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed, 
With love illumined high. " Fear not," he said, 
" Sweet innocence ! thou stranger to offense, 
And inward storm ! He, who yon skies involves 
In frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee 
With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft 
That wastes at midnight, or the undreaded hour 
Of noon, flies harmless ; and that very voice, 
Which thunders terror through the guilty heart, 
With tongues of seraphs whispers peace to thine. 
'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus 
To clasp perfection !" From his void embrace, 
(Mysterious heaven !) that moment to the ground, 
A blackened corse, was struck the beauteous maid. 
But who can paint the lover as he stood, 
Pierced by severe amazement, hating life, 
Speechless, and fixed in all the death of wo ? 
So, faint resemblance ! on the marble tomb, 
The well-dissembling mourner stooping stands, 
For ever silent, and for ever sad. 



32. the fireman. — Anonymous. 

Hoarse wintry blasts a solemn requiem sung 
To the departed day, 
Upon whose bier 
The velvet pall of midnight had been flung, 

And nature mourned through one wide hemisphere. 
Silence and darkness held their cheerless sway, 

Save in the haunts of riotous excess, 
And half the world in dreamy slumbers lay — 
Lost in the maze of sweet forgetfulness. 
When lo ! upon the startled ear, 
There broke a sound so dread and drear-- 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 307 

As, like a sudden peal of thunder, 
Burst the bands of sleep asunder, 
And filled a thousand throbbing hearts with fear. 

Hark ! the faithful watchman's cry 
Speaks a conflagration nigh ! — 
See ! yon glare upon the sky, 

Confirms the fearful tale. 
The deep-mouthed bells, with rapid tone, 
Combine to make the tidings known ; 
Affrighted silence now has flown, 
And sounds of terror freight the chilly gale ! 

At the first note of this discordant din, 

The gallant fireman from his slumber starts ; 
Reckless of toil and danger, if he win 
The tributary meed of grateful hearts. 
From pavement rough, or frozen ground, 
His engine's rattling wheels resound, 

And soon before his eyes 
The lurid flames, with horrid glare, 
Mingled with murky vapors rise, 
In wreathy folds upon the air, 
And veil the frowning sides ! 

Sudden a shriek assails his heart — 

A female shriek, so piercing wild, 
As makes his very life-blood start : — 

" My child ! Almighty God, my child * 
He hears, 
And 'gainst the tottering wall, 

The ponderous ladder rears ; 
While blazing fragments round him fall, 

And crackling sounds assail his ears. 

His sinewy arm, with one rude crash, 
Hurls to the earth the opposing sash ; 

And heedless of the startling din, — 
Though smoky volumes round him roll, 
The mother's shriek has pierced his soul, 

See ! see ! he plunges in ! 
The admiring crowd, with hopes and fears, 

In breathless expectation stands, 
When lo ! the daring youth appears, 
Hailed by a burst of warm, ecstatic cheers, 

Bearing the child triumphant in his hands ! 



308 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



33. BATTLE OF WATERLOO. ByTOU. 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 

And Belgium's capital had gathered then 

Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; 

A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 

Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 

And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; 

But hush ! hark ! — a deep sound strikes like a rising knell 3 

Did ye not hear it ? — No ; 'twas but the wind, 

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street : 

On with the dance ! let joy be unconflned ; 

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet 

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — 

But, hark ! — That heavy sound breaks in once more, 

As if the clouds its echo would repeat. 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 

Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roar ! 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 

Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness : 

And there were sudden partings, such as press 

The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 

Which ne'er might be repeated — who could guess 

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 

Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ? 

And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 
Or whispering with white lips — "The foe ! they come I thev 
come !" 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 309 

Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 

Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 

Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 

In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 

Of living valor, rolling on the foe, 

And burning with high hope, shall molder cold and low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 

Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay, 

The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, 

The morn the marshaling in arms, — the day, 

Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, 

The earth is covered thick with other clay, 

Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 

Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! 



34. the sailor-boy's dream. — Dimond. 

In slumbers of midnight, the sailor-boy lay ; 

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ; 
But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, 

And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bowers, 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; 

While memory stood side wise, half covered with flowei , 
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise — 

Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 

The jessamin clambers in flower o'er the thatch, 

A nd the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall ; 

All trembling with transport, he raises the latch 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, 

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear, 

And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. 



310 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, 
Joy quickens his pulse — all hardships seem o'er, 

And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest — 
" Oh God thou hast blest me — I ask for no more." 

Ah ! what is that flame, which now bursts on his eye ! 

Ah ! what is that sound which now larums his ear ? 
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky ! 

'Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere ! 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck ; 

Amazement confronts him with images dire — 
Wild winds and waves drive the vessel a wreck — 

The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire ! 

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell — • 
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mary to save ; 

Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 

And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave ! 

Oh ! sailor-boy, wo to thy dream of delight ! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss — 
Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright, 

Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss 1 

Oh ! sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! never again 

Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay ; 

Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, 
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge : 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, 
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge. 

On beds of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid ; 

Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ; 
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, 

And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, 
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll — - 

Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye — 

Oh ! sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! peace to thy soul. 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 311 



35. THE NEGLECTED CHILD. Bayly. 

I never was a favorite — 

My mother never smiled 
On me, with half the tenderness 

That blessed her fairer child. 
Tve seen her kiss my sister's cheek, 

While fondled on her knee ; 
I've turned away to hide my tears, — 

There was no kiss for me ! 

And yet I strove to please, with all 

My little store of sense ; 
I strove to please, and infancy 

Can rarely give offense. 
But when my artless efforts met 

A cold, ungentle check, 
I did not dare to throw myself, 

In tears, upon her neck. 

How blessed are the beautiful ! 

Love watches o'er their birth ; 
Oh beauty ! in my nursery 

I learned to know thy worth : — 
For even there, I often felt 

Forsaken and forlorn, 
And wished — for others wished it too— 

I never had been born ! 

I'm sure I was affectionate, — 

But in my sister's face, 
There was a look of love that claimed 

A smile, or an embrace. 
But when I raised my lip, to meet 

The pressure children prize, 
None knew the feelings of my heart,— 

They spoke not in my eyes. 

But oh ! that heart too keenly felt 

The anguish of neglect ; 
I saw my sister's lovely form 

With gems and roses decked ; 
I did not covet them ; but oft, 

When wantonly reproved, 
I envied her the privilege 

Of being so beloved 



312 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

But soon a time of triumph came — 

A time of sorrow too,- — 
For sickness o'er my sister's form 

Her venomed mantle threw : — 
The features once so beautiful, 

Now wore the hue of death ; 
And former friends shrank fearfully 

From her infectious breath. 

'Twas then, unwearied, day and night 

I watched beside her bed, 
And fearlessly upon my breast 

I pillowed her poor head. 
She lived ! — she loved me for my care !- 

My grief was at an end ; 
I was a lonely being once, 

But now I have a friend ! 



36. eliza. — Darwin. 

Now stood Eliza on the wood-crowned height, 
O'er Minden's plain, spectatress of the fight ; 
Sought with bold eye, amid the bloody strife, 
Her dearer self, the partner of her life ; 
From hill to hill the rushing host pursued, 
And viewed his banner, or believed she viewed. 
Pleased with the distant roar, with quicker tread, 
Fast by his hand one lisping boy she led ; 
And one fair girl, amid the loud alarm, 
Slept on her kerchief, cradled by her arm ; 
While round her brows bright beams of honor dart, 
And love's warm eddies circle round her heart. 
Near and more near the intrepid beauty pressed, — 
Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest, 
Heard the exulting shout, " They run ! they run !" 
" Great God !" she cried, " he's safe ! the battle's won !* 

A ball now hisses through the airy tides, 
(Some fury wings it, and some demon guides,) 
Parts the fine locks, her graceful head that deck, 
Wounds her fair ear and sinks into her neck ; 
The red stream issuing from her azure veins, 
Dyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains. — 
H Ah me !" she cried, and sinking on the ground, 
Kissed her dear babes, regardless of the wound. 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 313 

" Oh, cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn ! 
Wait, gushing life, oh, wait my love's return ! — 
Hoarse barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far ! 
The angel, pity, shuns the walks of war ! 
Oh, spare ye war-hounds, spare their tender age, 
On me, on me," she cried, " exhaust your rage !" 
Then with weak arms her weeping babes caressed, 
And sighing, hid them in her blood-stained vest. 

From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies, 
Fear in his heart, and frenzy in his eyes ; 
Eliza's name along the camp he calls, 
Eliza ! echoes through the canvass walls ; 
Quick through the murmuring gloom his foots eps tread 
O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead, 
Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood, 
Lo ! dead Eliza, weltering in her blood ! — 
Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds, 
With open arms and sparkling eyes he bounds : — 
" Speak low," he cries, and gives his little hand, 
" Eliza sleeps upon the dew-cold sand ; 
Poor weeping babe with bloody fingers pressed, 
And tried with pouting lips her milkless breast ; 
Alas ! we both with cold and hunger quake — 
Why do you weep ? — Mamma will soon awake." 
" She'll wake no more !" the hopeless mourner cried, 
Upturned his eyes, and clasped his hands and sighed ; 
Stretched on the ground awhile entranced he lay, 
And pressed warm kisses on the lifeless clay ; 
And then upsprung with wild convulsive start, 
And all the father kindled in his heart ; 
" Oh heavens !" he cried, " my first rash vow forgive ! 
These bind to earth, for these I pray to live !" 
Round his chill babes he wrapped his crimson vest, 
And clasped them sobbing to his aching breast. 



37. bethgelert; or, the death of the grayhouxd.- 

Spencer. 

The spearmen heard the bugle sound, 

And cheerly smiled the morn, 
And many a brach and many a hound, 

Obeyed Llewellyn's horn. 

27 



314 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

And still he drew a louder blast, 

And gave a lustier cheer ; 
" Come Gelert, come — wert never last 

Llewellyn's horn to hear. 

Oh where does faithful Gelert roam, 

The flower of all his race, 
So true, so brave ; a lamb at home, 

A lion in the chase V 9 

In sooth he was a peerless hound, 

The gift of royal John ; 
Hut now no Gelert could be found, 

And all the chase rode on. 

That day Llewellyn little loved 

The chase of hart or hare, 
And scant and small the booty proved, 

For Gelert was not there. 

Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied, 

When near the portal gate, 
His truant Gelert he espied, 

Bounding his lord to greet. 

But when he gained his castle door, 

Aghast the chieftain stood, 
The hound all o'er was smeared with gore, 

His lips, his fangs, ran blood. 

Llewellyn gazed with much surprise, 
Unused such looks to meet, 

His favorite checked his joyful guise, 
And crouched and licked his feet. 

Onward in haste Llewellyn past, 

And on went Gelert too, 
And still where'er his eyes he cast 

Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view. 

O'ertumed his infant's bed he found, 
With blood-stained covert rent, 

And all around, the walls and ground, 
With recent blood besprent I 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 315 

He called his child ; no voice replied ; 

He searched with terror wild : 
Blood, blood he found on every side, 

But no where found the child. 

11 Hell-hound ! my child by thee's devoured," 

The frantic father cried, 
And to the hilt his vengeful sword 

He plunged in Gelert's side ! 

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, 

Some slumberer wakened nigh — 
What words the parent's joy can tell— 

He hears his infant cry ! 

Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread, 

But the same couch beneath 
Lay a gaunt wolf all torn and dead, 

Tremendous still in death ! 

Ah ! what was then Llewellyn's pain ? 

For now the truth was clear, 
His gallant hound the wolf had slain, 

To save Llewellyn's heir. 



38. MARCO BOZZARIS, THE EPAMINONDAS OF MODERN 

Greece. — Halleck. 

His last words were — " To die for liberty is a pleasure and not a pain," 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour, 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power. 
In dreams through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring, 
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king ; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden bird. 

An hour passed on — the Turk awoke ; 
That bright dream was his last : 



316 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek, 
"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!" 
He woke — to die midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band : — 
" Strike — till the last armed foe expires, 
Strike — for your altars and your fires, 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires, 

God — and your native land !" 

They fought — like brave men, long and well, 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won ; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, death! 

Come to the mother when she feels 
For the first time her firstborn's breath ; — ■ 

Come when the blessed seals 
Which close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form, 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; — 
Come when the heart beats high and warm, 

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine, 
And thou art terrible : the tear, 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear 

Of agony, are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be, 
Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time. 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING, 317 

Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 

We tell thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art freedom's now, and fame'i 
One of the few, the immortal names, 

That were not born to die. 



39. the maniac. — Lewis. 

Stay, jailer, stay, and hear my wo ! 

She is not mad who kneels to thee ; 
For what I'm now, too well I know, 

And what I was, and what should be. 
I'll rave no more in proud despair ; 

My language shall be mild, though sad : 
But yet I firmly, truly swear, 

I am not mad, I am not mad. 

My tyrant husband forged the tale, 

Which chains me in this dismal cell ; 
My fate unknown my friends bewail — 

Oh ! jailer, haste that fate to tell : 
Oh ! haste my father's heart to cheer : 

His heart at once 'twill grieve and glad 
To know, though kept a captive here, 

I am not mad, I am not mad. 

He smiles in scorn, and turns the key ; 

He quits the grate ; 1 knelt in vain ; 
His glimmering lamp, still, still I see — 

'Tis gone ! and all is gloom again. 
Cold, bitter cold ! — No warmth ! no light ! — 

Life, all thy comforts once I had ; 
Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night, 

Although not mad ; no, no, not mad. 

'Tis sure some dream, some vision vain ; 

What ! I, — the child of rank and wealth- 
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain, 

Bereft of freedom, friends, and health? 
Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled, 

Which never more my heart must glad, 
How aches my heart, how burns my head ; 

But 'tis not mad ; no, 'tis not mad. 
27* 



3*8 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this, 

A mother's face, a mother's tongue ? 
She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss, 

Nor round her neck how fast you clung ; 
Nor how with her you sued to stay ; 

Nor how that suit your sire forbade ; 
Nor how — I'll drive such thoughts away ; 

They'll make me mad, they'll make me mad. 

His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled ! 

His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! 
None ever bore a lovelier child : 

And art thou now for ever gone 1 
And must I never see thee more, 

My pretty, pretty, pretty lad 1 
I will be free ! unbar the door ! 

I am not mad ; I am not mad. 

Oh ! hark ! what mean those yells and cries ? 

His chain some furious madman breaks ; 
He comes, — I see his glaring eyes ; 

Now, now, my dungeon-grate he shakes. 
Help ! help ! — He's gone 1 — Oh ! fearful wo, 

Such screams to hear, such sights to see ! 
My brain, my brain, — I know, I know, 

I am not mad, but soon shall be. 

Yes, soon ; — for, lo you ! — while I speak— 

Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare ! 
He sees me ; now, with dreadful shriek, 

He whirls a serpent high in air. 
Horror! — the reptile strikes his tooth 

Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad ; 
Ay, laugh, ye fiends ; — I feel the truth ; 

Your task is done — I'm mad ! I'm mad ! 



40. the fatherless. — Bayly. 

" Come hither, 'tis thy father, boy ! 

Receive him with a kiss." 
" Oh, mother, mother ! do not jest 
On such a theme as this. 
Though I was but a little child, 
How bitterly I cri*ed f 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 319 

And clung to thee in agony, 
When my poor father died." 

* Come, child, this is no time to weep, 

Partake thy mother's joy ; 
The husband of my choice will prove 

A parent to my boy." 
" Oh, mother, mother ! say not so, 

I cast no blame on thee, 
But yon gay stranger cannot feel 

A father's love for me." 

" Come, boy, 'tis for thy sake I wed — " 

" No, mother, not for mine ; 
I do not ask in all the world, 

One smile of love save thine. 
Oh say, why is the widow's veil 

So early thrown aside 1 
The hateful rumor is not true ; 

Thou wilt not be a bride ! 

Oh, mother, canst thou quite forget 

How hand in hand we crept, 
To my own honored father's bed, 

To watch him as he slept ; 
And do you not remember still 

His fond but feeble kiss V 9 
" Alas ! such thoughts but little suit 

A day — of joy- — like this." 

" Of joy ! oh, mother, we must part, 

This is no home for me ; 
I cannot bear to breathe one word 

Of bitterness to thee. 
My father placed my hand in thine, 

And bade me love thee well, 
And how I love, these tears of mine 

May eloquently tell. 

Thou sayest yon stranger loves thy child, 

I see he strives to please ; 
But, mother, do not be his bride, 

I ask it on my knees. 
I used to listen to h s voice 

With pleasure, I confess ; 



820 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

But call him husband ! and I shrink 
Ashamed of his caress. 

For I am of an age to prize 

The being, in whom blend 
The love and the solicitude 

Of father and of friend ; 
My father planned my boyish sports 

And shared each care I felt, 
And taught my infant lips to pray, 

As by his side I knelt. 

Yet deem not mine an impious grief; 

No, mother, thou wilt own 
With cheerfulness I spoke of him 

When we have been alone. 
But bring no other father here — 

No, mother, we must part ; 
The feeling that I'm fatherless 

Weighs heavy on my heart." 



41. LAMENT FOR LA FAYETTE. AnOnymOUS. 

All lonely and cold in the sepulchre slumbers 

The giant of freedom — the chosen of fame ! 
Too high is the theme for my harp's lowly numbers ; 

Yet fain would I twine me a wreath for that name 
Which proudly shines forth on the tablet of glory — 

Unsullied by faction — untarnished by guile : 
The loftliest theme for the bard's raptured story — 

The name by which freemen met death with a smile. 

Then arise, ye proud bards ! give our hearts' mighty sadness 

A voice not unworthy a theme so sublime, 
For him, the bright daystar of freedom and gladness, 

Whose memory will glow through the far flight of time ! 
He is gone, and for ever ! — the pride of our nation, 

That bright sun of freedom in glory hath set : 
The heroes who bled for our country's salvation, 

Now joy in thy presence, Oh, brave La Fayette ! 

Thou earnest to our shore when the daystar of freedom 
Was proudly dispelling dark tyranny's night : 

When millions awoke to the rank she decreed them, 
And the millions of despots were scattered in flight : 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 32] 

When the star-spangled banner waves sheen in the morning, 
The heart of the freeman will bound at thy name ; 

Thou champion of freedom ! fell tyranny scorning — 
One world was too small for the blaze of thy fame ! 

Bright, bright is the path thou hast left of thy glory, 

Amid the world's darkness, which ne'er shall decline, 
For the light of thy fame on the ages before thee, 

With splendor unsullied, for ever will shine : 
When freedom's bright fabric lay blackened in ruin, 

While bloodthirsty tyrants usurped the dread sway, 
At the roots ©f the proud tree of liberty hewing — 

All hopes for the land of thy love died away. 

Thou art gone ! — thy pure soul on its voyage hath started ; 

From its ashes the phoenix of freedom hath flown 
To join the bright phalanx of heroes departed, 

Who dwell in the light of a fame like thine own : 
Farewell, thou last star of that bright constellation 

Of heroes — whose glory can never depart — 
Thy fame hath no limit of kindred or nation — 

Thy name is enshrined in each patriot's heart. 

With Washington's Mended, for ever thy glory 

Shall form the proud theme of our bard's burning lays, 
While the banner of freedom shall proudly wave o'er thee, 

Thou mighty departed ! — thou light of our days : 
Be still ! my wild harp- — all in vain we lament him — 

His praise must be sung by some loftier lyre : 
Let the soul-raptured bard use the gift heaven hath lent him, 

And weave for our hero a requiem of fire ! 



42. we are seven. — Wordsworth 

A simple child, dear brother Jim, 
That lightly draws its breath, 

And feels its life in every limb, 
What should it know of death ? 

I met a little cottage girl, 

She was eight years old, she said : 
Her hair was thick with many a curl 

That clustered round her head. 



S?$ UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

She had a rustic woodland air, 

And she was wildly clad ; 
Her eyes were fair, and very fair, — 

Her beauty made me glad. 

< Sisters and brothers, little maid, 

How many may you be ?" 
" c How many V seven in all," — she saiJ 

And wondering looked at me. 

" And where are they, I pray you tell ?* 
She answered, " Seven are we, 

And two of us at Conway dwell, 
And two are gone to sea : 

Two of us in the churchyard lie, 

My sister and my brother, 
And in the churchyard cottage, I 

Dwell near them with my mother.* 

** You say that two at Conway dwell, 

And two are gone to sea. 
Yet you are seven, I pray you tell, 

Sweet maid, how this may be V* 

Then did the little maid reply, 
" Seven boys and girls are we ; 

Two of us in the churchyard lie 
Beneath the churchyard tree." 

u You run about my little maid, 

Your limbs they are alive ; 
If two are in the churchyard laid, 

Then ye are only five." 

* c Their graves are green, they may be seen," 

The little maid replied, 
u Twelve steps or more from mother's door, 

And they are side by side. 

My stockings there I often kmt, 

My kerchief there I hem, 
And there upon the ground I si&— * 

1 sit and sing to them. 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING W3 

And often after sunset, sir, 

When it is light and fair, 
I take my little porringer, 

And eat my supper there. 

The first that died was little Jane ; 

In bed she moaning lay, 
Till God released her of her pain, 

And then she went away. 

So in the churchyard she was laid, 

And all the summer dry, 
Together round her grave we played, 

My brother John and I. 

And when the ground was white with snow* 

And I could run and slide, 
My brother John was forced to go, 

And he lies by her side." 

" How many are you then," said I, 

" If they two are in heaven !" 
The little maiden did reply, 

" Oh master ! we are seven." 

" But they are dead ; those two are dead ; 

Their spirits are in heaven !" 
'Twas throwing words away ; for still 
The little maid would have her will, 

And said, " Nay, we are seven." 



43. ALONZO THE BRAVE. Lewi$% 

A warrior so bold, and a virgin so bright, 

Conversed as they sat on the green ; 
They gazed on each other with tender delight, 
Alonzo the brave was the name of the knight, 
The maid — was the fair Imogene. 

" And ah !" said the youth, " since to-morrow I go 

To right in a far-distant land, 
Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow, 
Some other will court you, and you will bestow 

On a wealthier suitor your hand." 



324 UNITED STATES SPEAKEfl. 

"Oh, hush these suspicions !" fair Imogene said, 

" So hurtful to love and to me ; 
For if you be living, or if you be dead, 
I swear by the virgin that none in your stead 

Shall husband of Imogene be. 

And if e'er for another my heart should decide, 

Forgetting Alonzo the brave, 
God grant that, to punish my falsehood and pride, 
Thy ghost at my marriage may sit by my side, 
May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride, 

And bear me away to the grave." 

To Palestine hastened the warrior so bold, 

His love she lamented him sore ; 
But scarce had a twelvemonth elapsed, when behold 
A baron all covered with jewels and gold, 

Arrived at fair Imogene's door. 

His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain, 

Soon made her untrue to her vows ; 
He dazzled her eyes, he bewildered her brain, 
He caught her affections, so light and so vain, 

And carried her home as his spouse. 

And now had the marriage been blest by the priest, 

The revelry now was begun, 
The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast, 
Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased, 

When the bell of the castle tolled — one ! 

'Twas then, with amazement, fair Imogene found 

A stranger was placed by her side ; 
His air was terrific, he uttered no sound, 
He spoke not, he moved not, he looked not around, 

But earnestly gazed on the bride. 

His visor was closed, and gigantic his height, 

His armor was sable to view ; 
All laughter and pleasure was hushed at his sight, 
The dogs, as they eyed him, drew back with affright, 

And the lights in the chamber burnt blue. 

His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay, 
The guests sat in silence and fear ; 



FATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 323 

At length spoke the bride, while she trembled — u I pray. 
Sir knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, 
And deign to partake of our cheer." 

The lady is silent — the stranger complies, 

And his visor he slowly unclosed — 
Oh, God ! what a sight met fair Imogen e's eyes ! 
What words can express her dismay and surprise, 

When a skeleton's head was exposed ! 

All present then uttered a terrified shout, 

All turned with disgust from the scene ; 
The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept ou , 
And sported his eyes and his temples about, 

While the spectre addressed Imogene : 

" Behold me, thou false one ! behold me !" he cried,— 

" Behold thy Alonzo the brave ! 
God grants that, to punish thy falsehood and pride, 
My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side, 
Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride, 

And bear thee away to the grave !" 

This saying, his arms round the lady he wound, 
While fair Imogene shrieked with dismay : 

Then sunk with his prey through the wide-yawning ground. 

Nor ever again was fair Imogene found, 
Or the spectre that bore her away. 

Not long lived the baron, and none since that time, 

To inhabit the castle presume ; 
For chronicles tell, that by order sublime, 
There Imogene suffers the pain of her crime, 

And mourns her deplorable doom. 

At midnight, four times in each year, does her sprite, 

When mortals in slumber are bound, 
Arrayed in her bridal apparel of white, 
Appear in the hall with her skeleton knight, 

And shriek as he whirls her around. 

While they drink out of sculls newly torn from the grave. 

Dancing round them pale spectres are seen : 
Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave 
They howl, ""To the health of Aionzo the biave, 

And his consort, the false Imogene." 
28 



326 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



44. the owl. — Anonymous. 

There sat an owl in an old oak-tree, 
Whooping very merrily ; 
He was considering, as well he might, 
Ways and means for a supper that night : 
He looked about with a solemn scowl, 
Yet very happy was the owl, 
For in the hollow of that oak-tree, 
There sat his wife, and his children three. 

She was singing one to rest, 
Another under her downy breast, 
'Gan trying his voice to learn her song ; 
The third (a hungry owl was he) 
Peeped slyly out of the old oak-tree, 
And peered for his dad, and said " You're long ;* 
But he hooted for joy when he presently saw 
His sire with a full-grown mouse in his claw. 
Oh what a supper they had that night ! 
All was feasting and delight ; 
Who most can chatter, or cram, they strive 
They were the merriest owls alive. 

What then did the old owl do ? 
Ah ! Not so gay was his next to-whoo ! 
It was very sadly said, 
For after his children had gone to bed, 
Strange wild fears perplexed his head. — 
He did not sleep with his children three, 
For, truly a gentleman owl was he, 
Who would not on his wife intrude, 
When she was nursing her infant brood ; 
So not to invade the nursery, 
He slept outside the hollow tree. 

So when he awoke at the fall of the dew, 
He called his wife with a loud to-whoo ; 
" Awake, dear wife, it is evening gray, 
And our joys live from the death of day." 
He called once more, and he shuddered when 
No voice replied to his again ; 
Yet still unwilling to believe, 
That evil's raven wing was spread, 
Hovering over his guiltless head, 
And shutting out joy from his hollow tree, 
" Ha — ha — they play me a trick," quoth he, 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 5S27 

•'They will not speak, — well, well, at night 
They'll talk enough, I'll take a flight." 
But still he went not, in, nor out, 
But hopped uneasily about. 

What then did the father owl ? 
He sat still, until beknv 
He heard cries of pain and wo. 
And saw his wife and children three, 
In a young boy's captivity. 
He followed them with noiseless wing, 
Not a cry once uttering. 
They went to a mansion tall, 
He sat in a window of the hall, 
Where he could see 
His bewildered family ; 
And he heard the hall with laughter ring, 
When the boy said, " Blind they'll learn to sing : n 
And he heard the shriek, when the hot steel pin 
Through their eyeballs was thrust in ! 
He felt it all ! Their agony 
Was echoed by his frantic cry, 
His scream rose up with a mighty swell, 
And wild on the boy's fierce heart it. fell ; 
It quailed him, as he shuddering said, 
" Lo ! the little birds are dead."" — 
But the father owl ! 
He tore his breast in his despair, 
And flew he knew not, recked not, where ! 
Ah ! away, away went the father owl, 
With his wild stare and deathly scowl. 
He had got a strange wild stare, 
For he thought he saw them ever there, 
And he screamed as they screamed when he saw them fall 
Dead on the floor of the marble hall. — 
— Why is the crowd so great to-day, 
And why do the people shout " huzza ? M 
And why is yonder felon given 
Alone to feed the birds of heaven? 
Had he no friend, now all is done, 
To give his corse a grave 1 — Not one ! 

Night has fallen. What means that cry ? 
[t descends from the gibbet high — 
There sits on its top a lonely owl 
With a staring eye, and a dismal scowl ; 
And he screams aloud, " Revenge is sweet *•** — 
His mortal foe is at his feet ! 



328 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



45. THE MAID OF THE INN. Southey. 

Who is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly-fixed eyes 
Seem a heart overcharged to express ! 

She weeps not, yet often and deeply she sighs ; 

She never complains, but her silence implies 
The composure of settled distress. 

No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek ; 

Cold and hunger awake not her care ; 
Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak 
On her poor withered bosom, half bare ; and her cheek 

Has the deadly pale hue of despair. 

Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day, 

Poor Mary, the maniac, has been ; 
The traveler remembers, who journeyed this way, 
No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay, 

As Mary, the maid of the inn. 

Her cheerful address filled the guests with delight, 

As she welcomed them in with a smile ; 
Her heart was a stranger to childish affright, 
And Mary would walk by the abbey at night, 

When the wind whistled down the dark aisle. 

She loved, and young Richard had settled the day, 

And she hoped to be happy for life ; 
But Richard was idle and worthless, and they 
Who knew her, would pity poor Mary, and say 

That she was too good for his wife. 

Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, 

And fast were the windows and door ; 
Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright, 
And, smoking in silence, with tranquil delight, 
They listened to hear the wind roar. 

" 'Tis pleasant/' cried one, " seated by the fireside, 

To hear the wind whistle without." 
" A fine night for the abbey," his comrade replied, 
'* Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried, 

Who should wander the ruins about. 



PATHETIC AND ENTERTAINING. 329 

I myself, like a schoolboy, should tremble to hear 

The hoarse ivy shake over my head ; 
And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear, 
Some ugly old abbot's white spirit appear, 

For this wind might awaken the dead." 

" I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, 

" That Mary would venture there now." 
" Then wager and lose," with a sneer he replied, 
" I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side, 

And faint if she saw a white cow." 

" Will Mary this charge on her courage allow ?" 

His companion exclaimed with a smile ; 
" I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, 
And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough 

From the alder that grows in the aisle." 

With fearless good humor did Mary comply, 

And her way to the abbey she bent ; 
The night it was dark, and the wind it was high, 
And as hollowly howling it swept through the sky, 

She shivered with cold as she went. 

O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid 

Where the abbey rose dim on the sight ; 
Through the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid, 
Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade 
Seemed to deepen the gloom of the night. 

All around her was silent, save when the rude blast 

Howled dismally round the old pile ; 
Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she passed, 
And arrived at the innermost ruin at last, 

Where the alder-tree grows in the aisle. 

Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near, 

And hastily gathered the bough — 
When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear- 
She paused, and she listened, all eager to hear, 

And her heart panted fearfully now ! 

The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head ; — • 
She listened ; — naught else could she hear. 

28* 



830 UNITED STATES SPEAKER* 

The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, 
For she heard in the ruins — distinctly — the tread 
Of footsteps approaching her near. 

Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, 

She crept to conceal herself there ; 
That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, 
And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear, 

And between them — a corpse did they bear ! 

Then Mary could feel her heart's-blood curdle cold ! 

Again the rough wind hurried by — 
It blew off the hat of the one, and behold ! 
Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rolled ! — 

She fell — and expected to die ! 

" Curse the hat!" he exclaims ; " Nay come on and first hide 

The dead body," his comrade replies — 
She beheld them in safety pass on by her side, 
She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied, 

And fast through the abbey she flies. 

She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the door, 

She gazed horribly eager around ; 
Then her limbs could support their faint burden no more, 
And exhausted and breathless she sunk on the floor, 

Unable to utter a sound. 

Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, 

For a moment the hat met her view ; — 
Her eyes from that object convulsively start, 
For, Oh God ! what cold horror thrilled through her heart, 

When the name of her Richard she knew. 

Where the old abbey stands, on the common hard by, 

His gibbet is now to be seen ; 
Not far from the inn it engages the eye, 
The traveler beholds it, and thinks, with a sigh, 

Of poor Mary, the maid of the inn. 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 



1. to an old wig. — Anonymous. 

Hail thou ! that liest so snug in this old box ; 

With awe I bend before thy wood-built shrine f 
Oh ! 'tis not closed with glue, nor nails, nor locks, 

And hence the bliss of viewing thee is mine. 

Like my poor aunt, thou hast seen better days ; 

Well curled and powdered, once it was thy lot 
Balls to frequent, and masquerades, and plays, 

And panoramas, and I know not what ! 

Alas ! what art thou now ? a mere old mop ! 

With which our housemaid Nan, who hates a broom 
Dusts all the chambers in my little shop, — 

Then slyly hides thee in this lumber-room. 

Such is the fate of wigs — and mortals too ! 

After a few more years than thine are past, 
The Turk, the Christian, Pagan, and the Jew, 

Must all be shut up in a box at last ! 

Vain man ! to talk so loud, and look so big ! 
How small the difference 'twixt thee — and a wig! 
How small, indeed ! — for speak the truth I must,— 
Wigs turn to dusters, and man turns to dust. 



2. the child's wish in JUNE. — Gilman. 

Mother, mother, the winds are at play, 
Prithee, let me be idle to-day. 
Look, dear mother, the flowers all lie 
Languidly under the bright blue sky. 

See, how slowly the streamlet glides ; 
Look, how the violet roguishly hides ; 
Even the butterfly rests on the rose, 
And scarcely sips the sweets as he goes. 

Poor Tray is asleep in the noonday sim, 
And the flies go about him one by one ; 



332 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

And pussy sits near, with a sleepy grace 
Without ever thinking of washing her face. 

There flies a bird to a neighboring tree, 
But very lazily flieth he, 
And he sits and twitters a gentle note, 
And scarcely ruffles his little throat. 

You bid me be busy ; but mother, hear 
How the humdrum grasshopper soundeth near 
And the soft west wind is so light in its play, 
It scarcely moves a leaf on the spray. 

I wish, oh, I wish I was yonder cloud, 
* That sails about with its misty shroud ; 
Books and work I no more should see, 
And I'd come and float, dear mother, o'er thee. 



3. the infant orator. — Everett. 

You'd scarce expect one of my age, 

To speak in public on the stage ; 

And if I chance to fall below 

Demosthenes or Cicero, 

Don't view me with a critic's eye, 

But pass my imperfections by. 

Large streams from little fountains flow; 

Tall oaks from little acorns grow ; 

And though I now am small and young, 

Of judgment weak, and feeble tongue ; 

Yet all great learned men, like me, 

Once learned to read their A, B, C. 

But why may not Columbia's soil 

Rear men as great as Britain's isle ; 

Exceed what Greece and Rome have done, 

Or any land beneath the sun 1 

May'nt Massachusetts boast as great 

As any other sister state ? 

Or, where's the town, go far and near, 

That does not find a rival here 1 

Or, where's the boy, but three feet high, 

Who's made improvements more than I ? 

These thoughts inspire my youthful mind 

To be the greatest of mankind ; 

Great, not like Caesar, stained with blood; 

But only great, as I am good. 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 333 



4 THE APPLE-DUMPLINGS, AND GEORGE THE THIRD. Wohot 

Once in the chase, this monarch drooping, 

From his high consequence and wisdom stooping, 

Entered, through curiosity, a cot, 

Where an old crone was hanging on the pot ; 
The wrinkled, blear-eyed, good old granny, 
In this same cot, illumed by many a cranny, 

Had apple-dumplings ready for the pot ; 
In tempting row the naked dumplings lay, 
When lo ! the monarch, in his usual way, 

Like lightning asked, " What's here ? what's here ? what ? 
what? what? what?" 
Then taking up a dumpling in his hand, 
His eyes with admiration did expand — 

And oft did majesty the dumpling grapple ; 
" 'Tis monstrous, monstrous, monstrous hard," he cried ; 
" What makes the thing so hard ?" The dame replied, 

Low courtesying, " Please your majesty, the apple." 
" Very astonishing indeed ! strange thing !" 
(Turning the dumpling round) rejoined the king, 
" 'Tis most extraordinary now, all this is — 
It beats the conjurer's capers all to pieces — 
Strange I should never of a dumpling dream, — 
But Goody, tell me, where, where, where's the seam V 
" Sire, there's no seam," quoth she, " I never knew 
That folks did apple-dumplings sew !" — 
" No !" cried the staring monarch with a grin, 
" Then, where, where, where, pray, got the apple in ?" 



5. the directing post. — Anonymous. 

In winter, once, an honest traveling wight 
Pursued his road to Derby, late at night ; 
'Twas very cold, the wind was bleak and high, 
And not a house nor living thing was nigh ; 
At length he came to where some four roads met, 
(It rained too, and he was completely wet,) 
And being doubtful which w r ay he should take 
He drew up to the finger-post to make 
It out — and after much of poring, fumbling, 
Some angry oaths, and a great deal of grumbling, 



334 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

'Twas thus the words he traced—" To Derby — five," 

" A goodly distance yet, as I'm alive !" 

But on he drove a weary length of way, 

And wished his journey he'd delayed till day : 

He wondered that no town appeared in view, 

(The wind blew stronger, it rained faster too,) 

When to his great relief he met a man : 

" I say good friend, pray tell me, if you can, 

How far is't hence to Derby ?" " Derby, hey ! 

Why zur, thee be'est completely come astray ; 

This y'ant the road." " Why zounds the guide-post showed 

' To Derby, five' — and pointed down this road !" 

" Ay, dang it, that may be, for you maun know, 

The post it war blown down last night, and so 

This morn I put it up again, but whether 

(As I can't put great A and B together) 

The post is right, I'm zure I cannot zay — 

The town is just five miles the other way." 



6. THE ATHEIST AND ACORN. AtlOnymOUS. 

" Methinks the world seems oddly made 

And every thing amiss ;" 
A dull complaining atheist said, 
As stretched he lay beneath the shade, 

And instanced it in this : 

" Behold," quoth he, " that mighty thing, 

A pumpkin large and round, 
Is held but by a little string, 
Which upwards cannot make it spring, 

Nor bear it from the ground. 

While on this oak an acorn small, 

So disproportioned grows, 
That whosoe'er surveys this all, 
This universal casual ball, 

Its ill contrivance knows. 

My better judgment would have hung 

The pumpkin on the tree, 
And left the acorn slightly strung, 
'Mongst things that on the surface sprung, 

And weak and feeble be " 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 335 

No more the caviler could say, 

No further faults descry ; 
For upwards gazing, as he lay, 
An acorn, loosened from its spray, 

Fell down upon his eye. 

The wounded part with tears ran o'er, 

As punished for that sin ; 
Fool ! had that bough a pumpkin bore, 
Thy whimseys would have worked no more, 

Nor skull have kept them in. 



7. THE ASS AND THE NIGHTINGALE. Krilov. 

An ass, a nightingale espied, 
And shouted out, " Hollo ! hollo ! good friend ! 
Thou art a firstrate singer, they pretend :— 

Now let me hear thee, that I may decide ; 
I really wish to know — the world is partial ever — 
If thou hast this great gift, and art indeed so clever.' 
The nightingale began her heavenly lays : 

Through all the regions of sweet music ranging, 
Varying her song a thousand different ways ; 

Rising and falling, lingering, ever changing : 
Full of wild rapture now — then sinking oft 
To almost silence — melancholy, soft, 
As distant shepherd's pipe at evening's close : 

Strewing the wood with lovelier music ; — there 
All nature seems to listen and repose : 

No zephyr dares disturb the tranquil air : — 
All other voices of the grove are still, 
And the charmed flocks lie down beside the rill. 

The shepherd like a statue stands — afraid 
His breathing may disturb the melody, 
His finger pointing to the melodious tree, 

Seems to say, " Listen !" to his favorite maid. 
The singer ended : — and our critic bowed 
His reverend head to earth, and said aloud : — 
" Now that's so so ; — thou really hast some merit ; 
Curtail thy song, and critics then might hear it. 
Thy voice 'wants sharpness : — but if chanticleer 

Would give thee a few lessons, doubtless he 
Might raise thy voice and modulate thy ear ; 

And thou, in spite of all thy faults, mayest bo 



336 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

A very decent singer.'' The poor bird 
In silent modesty the critic heard, 
And winged her peaceful flight into the air, 
O'er many and many a field and forest fair. 
Many such critics you and I have seen : — 
Heaven be our screen ! 



8. THE YOUNG FLF AND THE OLD SPIDER. Wolcot 

Fresh was the breath of morn — the busy breeze, 
As poets tell us, whispered through the trees, 

And swept the dew-clad blooms with wings so light \ 
Phoebus got up, and made a blazing fire, 
That gilded every country-house and spire, 

And smiling, put on his best looks so bright. 

On this fair morn, a spider who had set, 
To catch a breakfast, his old waving net, 

With cautious art, upon a spangled thorn ; 
At length with gravely-squinting, longing eye, 
Near him espied a pretty, plump, young fly, 

Humming her little orisons to morn. 

" Good morrow, dear Miss Fly," quoth gallant Grim — 
" Good morrow, sir," replied Miss Fly to him — 

" Walk in, Miss, pray, and see what Pm about :" 
" I'm much obliged t'ye, sir," Miss Fly rejoined, 
" My eyes are both so very good, I find, 

That I can plainly see the whole without." 

" Fine weather, Miss" — " Yes, very fine," 
Quoth Miss — " prodigious fine indeed !" 
u But why so coy ?" quoth Grim, " that you decline 
To put within my bower your pretty head ?" 
" 'Tis simply this," 
Quoth cautious Miss, 
" I fear you'd like my pretty head so well, 
You'd keep it for yourself, sir, — who can tell ?" 

" Then let me squeeze your lovely hand, my dear, 
And prove that all your dread is foolish, vain" — 

u I've a sore finger, sir, nay more, I fear 
You reallv would not let it £0 again." 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 337 

" Poh, poh, child, pray dismiss your idle dread : 
I would not hurt a hair of that sweet head — 

Well, then, with one sweet kiss of friendship meet me " 
" La, sir," quoth miss, with seeming artless tongue, 
" I fear our salutation would be long : 

So loving, too, I fear that you would eat me." 

So saying, with a smile she left the rogue, 

To weave more lines of death, and plan for prog. 



9. SPECTACLES, OR HELPS TO READ. Byrom. 

A certain artist, I've forgot his name, 
Had got for making spectacles a fame, 
Or " helps to read" — as, when they first were sold, 
Was writ upon his glaring sign in gold ; 
And, for all uses to be had from glass, 
His were allowed by readers to surpass. 
There came a man into his shop one day — 
" Are you the spectacle contriver, pray ?" 
" Yes, sir," said he, " I can in that affair 
Contrive to please you, if you want a pair." 
" Can you ? pray do then." — So, at first, he chose 
To place a youngish pair upon his nose ; 
And book produced, to see how they would fit : 
Asked how he liked 'em ? — " Like 'em — not a bit." — 
" Then sir, I fancy, if you please to try, 
These in my hand will better suit your eye" — * . 

" No, but they don't" — " Well, come, sir, if you please. 
Here is another sort, we'll e'en try these ; 
Still somewhat more they magnify the letter ; 
Now, sir ?" — " Why now — I'm not a bit the better" — 
" No ! here, take these that magnify still more ; 
How do they fit ?" — " Like all the rest before." 
In short, they tried a whole assortment through, 
But all in vain, for none of 'em would do. 
The operator, much surprised to find 
So odd a case, thought, sure the man is blind : 
" What sort of eyes can you have got ?" said he, 
" Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see :" 
" Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ball — 
Pray, let me ask you — can you read at all ?" 
29 



338 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

" No, you great blockhead ; if I could, what need 
Of paying you for any — ' helps to read v " 
And so he left the maker in a heat, 
Resolved to post him for an arrant cheat. 



10. the schoolboy's complaint. — Anonymous. 

I love my master, and my school full well, 
But cannot bear to read, to write, or spell ; 
I strive at each, but, ah ! I strive in vain — 
But still more zealous strive to shun the cane. 

When, if by chance, my hands do get a stain, 
Up I am sent to have them washed with cane ; 
Or, if an apple munch — or sidewise chance to look, 
Confound the cane, I catch it — such my fatal luck. 

If slate-string lose, — or pencil chance to drop, 
Up I am sent — the cane will never stop ; 
To stir, is treason, speaking, worse than death, 
There's no escape from cane while I have breath. 

Oh ! direful cane ! I wish the burning sun 

Had parched the ground, and it had brought forth none 5 

Had we no weapon on our England's plain, 

But we must cross the ocean for a cane 1 

Oh ! friends believe me, hear me speak my mind : 
Before I know my fault, I'm seized — confined, 
Dragged like a felon — plead alas ! in vain, 
And all I get for pity is the cruel cane. 

Oh ! what a sufferer, when shall I be freed ? — 
[s there no other art to teach mankind to read ? 
Oh ! yes, there's Lancaster, friend of hapless youth, 
Without a cane can guide mankind to truth. 

I'll go to him, for he's a man of peace, 
And in his school the war of cane shall cease ; — 
I went, and found to finish my mishap, 
Instead of cane, a substitute called — strap. 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 339 

Oh ! wretched me ! how oft IVe wished in vain, 
Some friend in pity would destroy the cane ; 
But now I wish the cane and strap together, 
Sunk in the ocean, and both lost for erer. 



11. THE THREE BLACK CROWS. ByTOm. 

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand, 
One took the other briskly by the hand ; 
" Hark ye," said he, " 'tis an odd story this, 
About the crows !" — " 1 don't know what it is," 
Replied his friend. — " No ! I'm surprised at that ; 
Where I come from, it is the common chat : 
But you shall hear : an odd affair indeed ! 
And that it happened, they are all agreed : 
Not to detain you from a thing so strange, 
A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change, 
This week, in short, as all the alley knows, 
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows." 
" Impossible !" — " Nay, but it's really true, 
I had it from good hands, and so may you." 
" From whose, I pray ?" So having named the man. 
Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran. 
" Sir, did you tell" — relating the affair — 
" Yes, sir, I did ; and if it's worth your care 
Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me ; 
But, by the by, 'twas two black crows, not three." 
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event, 
Whip to the third, the virtuoso went. 
" Sir," — and so forth — " Why, yes ; the thing is fact, 
Though in regard to number not exact ; 
It was not two black crows, 'twas only one ; 
The truth of that you may depend upon. 
The gentleman himself told me the case." 
* Where may I find him ?" " Why, — in such a place.* 
Away he goes, and having found him out, — 
" Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt." 
Then to his last informant he referred, 
And begged to know if true what he had heard. 
" Did you, sir, throw up a black crow ?" " Not I !" 
" Bless me ! how people propagate a lie ! 
Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one, 
And here I find at last all comes to none ! 



340 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Did you say nothing of a crow at all ?" 

" Crow — crow — perhaps I might, now I recall 

The matter over." " And pray, sir, what was't ?* 

<; Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last, 

I did throw up, and told my neighbor so, 

Something that was as black, sir, as a crow." 



12. THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER-— 

Anonymous, 

In Broad-street buildings, (on a winter night,) 
Snug by his parlor fire, a gouty wight 

Sat all alone, with one hand rubbing 
His feet, rolled up in fleecy hose, 
With t'other he'd beneath his nose 

The Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing 
He noted all the sales of hops, 
Ships, shops, and slops, 
Gum, galls, and groceries, ginger, gin, 
Tar, tallow, tumeric, turpentine, and tin ; 

When, lo ! a decent personage in black, 
Entered and most politely said — 

" Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track 
To the — King's Head, 
And left your door ajar, which I 
Observed in passing by ; 

And thought it neighborly to give you notice." 
Ten thousand thanks — how very few get 
In time of danger 
Such kind attentions from a stranger ! 

Assuredly that fellow's throat is 
Doomed to a final drop at Newgate : 
He knows, too, (the unconscious elf,) 
That there's no soul at home except myself. 

Indeed ! replied the stranger, (looking grave,) 

Then he's a double knave : 
He knows that rogues and thieves by scores 
Nightly beset unguarded doors : 

And see, how easily might one 
Of these domestic foes, 
Even beneath your very nose, 
Perform his knavish tricks ; 

Enter your room, as I have done, 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 34/ 

Blow out your candles — thus — and thus, 
Pocket your silver candlesticks, 

And walk off— thus — 
So said — so done — he made no more remark, 

Nor waited for replies, 

But marched off with his prize, 
Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark. 



13. misconception. — Anonymous. 

Ere night her sable curtains spread ; 
Ere Phoebus had retired to bed 

In Thetis's lap ; 
Ere drowsy watchmen yet had ta'en 

Their early nap, 

A wight, by hungry fiend made bold, 
To farmer Fitz Maurice's fold, 

Did slyly creep, 
Where numerous flocks were quiet laid 

In the arms of sleep. 

No doubt the sheep he meant to steal, 
But, hapless, close behind his heel, 

Was ploughman Joe, 
Who just arrived in time to stop 

The murderous blow. 

May ill luck on ill actions wait! 
The felon must to justice straight 

Be dragged by force ; 
Where persecutors urge his guilt, 

Without remorse. 

With fear o'erwhelmed, the victim stands 
Anticipates the dread commands 

From the elbow chair, 
Where justice sits in solemn state, 

With brow austere. 

" Rogue ! what excuse hast thou for tajj • 
For to old Gilbert Fitz Maurice, 
2D* 



542 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Thou knew'st full well, 
The sheep within that fold belonged — 
Come, quickly tell. 

Confess thy crime ; 'twill naught avail 
To say, the mark above the tail 

Thou didst not heed ; 
For G. F. M., in letters large, 

Thou plain mightst read." 

" 'Tis true, I did," the thief replies, 
" But man is not at all times wise ; 

As Fm a glutton, 
I really thought that G. F. M. 

Meant — Good, Fat, Mutton !" 



14. THE WIND IN A FROLIC. Howit. 

The wind one morning sprung up from sleep, 
Saying " Now for a frolic ! now for a leap ! 
Now for a mad-cap galloping chase ! 
I'll make a commotion in every place !" 
So it swept with a bustle right through a great town, 
Creaking the signs, and scattering down 
Shutters ; and whisking with merciless squalls, 
Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls ; 
There never was heard a much lustier shout, 
As the apples and oranges tumbled about ; 
And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes 
For ever on watch, ran off each with a prize. 
Then away to the field it went blustering and humming 
And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming ; 
It plucked by their tails the grave matronly cows, 
And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows, 
Till, offended at such a familiar salute, 
They all turned their backs and stood silently mute. 
So on it went, capering and playing its pranks, 
Whistling with reeds on the broad river's banks ; 
Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray, 
Or the traveler grave on the king's highwav. 
It was not too nice to bustle the bags 
Of the beggar, and flutter h> dirty rags : 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 343 

Twas so bold, that it feared not to play its joke 
With the doctor's wig, and the gentleman's cloak. 
Through the forest it roared, and cried gaily, " Now, 
You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow !" 
And it made them bow without more ado, 
And cracked their great branches through and through. 
Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and farm, 
Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm, 
And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm. 
There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps, 
To see if their poultry were free from mishaps. 
The turkies they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, 
And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd : 
There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, 
Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone. 
But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane 
With a schoolboy who panted and struggled in vain : 
For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood 
With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud. 



15. short answers. — Anonymous. 

A modern philosopher, full of inflation, 

Had strolled to the valley below ; 
And thus to himself he began an oration : 
u I'll humble the priest and enlighten the nation, 
I'll cover the blockheads with scorn and confusion, 
And prove that religion is only delusion, 

The world shall the hypocrites know." 
So strong and emphatic had been his conclusion, 

That echo returned it with — " Oh !" 

Then he turned himself round at the strange interjection, 
His wit and his courage to show : 

" Who are you," said he, " that dare make a reflection, 

Or treat with contempt such a noble conception ? 

Come forth to the champion of nature and reason ; 

Your folly I'll prove, and fanatical treason, 
Or crush you at once with a blow !" 
Then echo said nothing but — " Boh !" 

i% Do you think I'm a fool," said the man, in a passion, 
" Or goose, to be scared by a crow * 



344 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Are the writings of deists of learning and fashion 
All made on a sudden but rubbish and trash on ; 
Shall Voltaire the witty, and Gibbon the mighty, 
With deep David Hume, and Tom Paine the sprightly 
All fall by religion, their foe V 
Then echo made answer with — " So !" 

" Impertinent babbler ! who values the notion, 

But those who are artful or low ? 
The parson who makes a good trade of devotion 
And flatters the great for the sake of promotion, 
Or the poor simple soul on the eve of distraction, 
Who yields up his mind to be swayed by a faction, 

And sinks into folly and wo V 

But echo directly said — " No !" 

" 'Tis enough to provoke one to cross the equator, 

My knowledge far off to bestow ; 
Where savages dwell in a state of pure nature, 
Nor trouble their heads about soul or Creator ; 
Where, free from the dogmas of old superstition, 
Philosophy, reason, and right have admission, 
And truth shall with liberty grow." 
Then echo said nothing but — " Go !" 



16. LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN. Colman. 

Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, 
Has seen, " lodgings to let," stare him full in the face. 
Some are good and let dearly ; while some 'tis well known 
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone. — 

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely, 
Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only ; 
But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun, — 
Or like two single gentlemen rolled into one. 

He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated ; 
But, all the night long, he felt fevered and heated ; 
And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep, 
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep. 

Next night 'twas the same ! — and the next ! and the nexef 
He perspired like an ox ; he was nervous, and vexed ; 



COMIC AND AMLSING. 345 

Week after week, till by weekly succession, 
His weakly condition was past all expression. 

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him ; 
For his skin " like a lady's loose gown," hung about him. 
He sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny, 
" I've lost many pounds — make me well — there's a guinea." 

The doctor looked wise : — " a slow fever," he said ; 
Prescribed sudorifics, — and going to bed. 
" Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, " are humbugs ! 
I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs !" 

Will kicked out the doctor : — but when ill indeed, 
E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed ; 
So, calling his host — he said — " Sir, do you know, 
I'm the fat single gentleman, six months ago ? 

Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will with a grin, 
" That with honest intentions you first took me in : 
But from the first night — and to say it I'm bold — 
I've been so very hot, that I'm sure I caught cold !" 

Quoth the landlord, — " Till now, I ne'er had a dispute 
I've let lodgings ten years, — I'm a baker to boot ; 
In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven ; 
And your bed is immediately— over my oven." 

" The oven ! ! !" — says Will ; — says the host, " Why this pas- 
sion 1 
In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. 
Why so crusty, good sir V — " Zounds !" cried Will in a taking 
" Who would not be crusty, with half a years baking ?" 

" Will paid for his rooms :" — cried the host with a sneer, 
" Well, I see you've been going away half a year." 
" Friend, we can't well agree ; — yet no quarrel,"— Will said : 
■ But I'd rather not perish, while you make youi biead." 



17. THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN. KhemnitzeT. 

So goes the world ; if wealthy, you may call 
This friend, that brother, friends and brothers all ; 
Though you are worthless — witless — ne /er mind it ; 



346 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

You may have been a stable-boy — what then ? 
Tis wealth, good sir, makes honorable men. 

You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it. 
But if you're poor, heaven help you ! though your sire 
Had royal blood within him, and though you 
Possess the intellect of angels too 
'Tis all in vain ; — the world will ne'er inquire 
On such a score : — Why should it take the pains ? 
'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains. 
I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever, 
Witty and wise : — he paid a man a visit, 

And no one noticed him, and no one ever 
Gave him a welcome. " Strange," cried I, " whence is it !" 
He walked on this side, then on that, 
He tried to introduce a social chat ; 
Now here, now there, in vain he tried ; 
Some formally and freezingly replied, 

And some 
Said by their silence — " Better stay at home." 
A rich man burst the door, 
As Croesus rich, I'm sure 
He could not pride himself upon his wit ; 
And as for wisdom, he had none of it ; 
He had what's better ; — he had wealth. 

What a confusion ! — all stand up erect — 
These crowd around to ask him of his health ; 

These bow m honest duty and respect ; 
And these arrange a sofa or a chair, 
And these conduct him there. 
" Allow me sir, the honor ;" — Then a bow 
Down to the earth — Is't possible to show 
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension ? 
The poor man hung his head, 
And to himself he said, 
" This is indeed beyond my comprehension :" 
Then looking round, 
One friendly face he found, 
And said — " Pray tell me why is wealth preferred 

To wisdom V ■ — " That's a silly question, friend !" 
Replied the other — " have you never heard, 
A man may lend his store 
Of gold or silver ore, 
But wisdom none can borrow, none can lend ? w 



COMIC AND AMUSINO. 347 

18. petition of young ladies. — Anonymous. 

Addressed to Dr. Moyce, late lecturer on the Philosophy of Natural History 

Dear doctor let it not transpire, 

How much your lectures we admire ; 

How at your eloquence we wonder, 

When you explain the cause of thunder ; 

Of lightning, and electricity, 

With so much plainness and simplicity ; 

The origin of rocks and mountains, 

Of seas and rivers, lakes and fountains ; 

Of rain and hail, and frost and snow 

And all the storms and winds that blow ; 

Besides a hundred wonders more, 

Of which we never heard before. 

But now, dear doctor, not to flatter, 

There is a most important matter — 

A matter which you never touch on, 

A matter which our thoughts run much on, 

A subject, if we right conjecture, 

That well deserves a long, long lecture, 

Which all the ladies would approve, — 

The natural history of love ! 

Deny us not, dear doctor Moyce ! 

Oh list to our entreating voice ! 

Tell us why our poor tender hearts 

So easily admit love's darts. 

Teach us the marks of love's beginning ; 

What makes us think a beau so winning ; 

What makes us think a coxcomb witty, 

A black coat wise, a red coat — pretty ! 

Why we believe such horrid lies, 

That we are angels from the skies, 

Our teeth like pearl, our cheeks like roses, 

Our eyes like stars — such charming noses ! 

Explain our dreams, awake and sleeping, 

Explain our blushing, laughing, weeping. 

Teach us, dear doctor, if you can, 

To humble that proud creature, man 

To turn the wise ones into fools, 

The proud and insolent to tools ; 

To make them all run, helter skelter, 

Their necks — into the marriage-halter . 



348 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Then leave us to ourselves with these ; 
We'll turn and rule them as we please. 
Dear doctor, if you grant our wishes, 
We promise you — five hundred kisses ; 
And, rather than the affair be blundered, 
We'll give you — six score to the hundred. 



19. THE ANT AND THE BUTTERFLY. Anonymous. 

A butterfly gay, in the month of July, 

When flowerets were in their full bloom, 
Was plying his wings 'neath a beautiful sky, 

In search of the richest perfume. 
Fatigued with its pleasures it rested awhile 

On a sand-bank to bask in the sun, 
Where an ant it espied, at its wearisome toil, 

And the following confab begun. 

" What oh, foolish thing, why dost work like a slave, 

Why toil on this beautiful day ; 
Come ramble with me and thou pleasure shalt have, 

And thy moments glide gaily away. 
I toil not like thee, yet I live like a king, 

And riot in garden and grove ; 
The sweets of the flowers I enjoy as they spring ; 

Where fancy directs me to rove. 

Behold for thyself, too, how gay I appear, 

The hues of the rainbow are mine ; 
How blest my condition, how pleasant my cheer, 

And my looks, how much better than thine ! 
Now take my advice and give up thy hard toil, 

And throw thy huge burden away ; 
Enjoyment and pleasures our hours shall beguile, 

And thus we shall get through the day." 

The ant, with a true philosophical eye, 

Viewed the butterfly's gaudy attire ; 
Next paused, shruggsd his shoulders, then made this reply, 

" Suppose you should fall in the mire — 
Methinks you would tumble and flutter about, 

And wish yourself safe in my hut ; 
But if by good fortune you chanced to g&t out, 

What a notable figure you'd cut ! 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 3*19 

But that's a misfortune you never may meet, 

Yet tempest and storm will arrive ; 
Then where are your perfumes that now are so sweet ? 

They're gone, and you cannot survive. 
As for me, while there's plenty, I make me a home, 

And to store it industrious am I ; 
I've a refuge to fly to when perils do come, 

Time's precious — I wish you good-by." 

Some men like the butterfly madly pursue 

The baubles of earth while they've breath ; 
The wants of the future they keep not in view, 

Nor prepare for the winter of death. 
But some like the ant are industrious and wise, . 

Improving each hour that is given ; 
They lay up their treasure above the bright skies, 

And a mansion awaits them in heaven. 



20. logic. — Anorymous. 

An Eton stripling — training for the law, 
A dunce at syntax, but a dab at taw, — 
One happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf 
His cap and gown and stores of learned pelf, 
With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome, 
To spend a fortnight at his uncle's home. 
Returned, and passed the usual how-d'ye does, 
Inquiries of old friends, and college news ; 
" Well, Tom, the road ; what saw you worth discerning \ 
How's all at college, Tom: what is't you're. learning?" 
" Learning ? — Oh, logic, logic ; not the shallow rules 
Of Lockes and Bacons, antiquated fools ! 
But wits' and wranglers' logic ; for d'ye see 
I'll prove as clear as A, B, C, 
That an eel-pie's a pigeon ; to deny it, 
Is to say black's not black ;" — " Come let's try it ?" 
" Well, sir ; an eel-pie is a pie of fish :" " Agreed." 
" Fish-pie may be a jack-pie :" — " Well, well, proceed." 
" A jack-pie is a John -pie — and 'tis done ! 
For every John-pie must be a pie-John." (pigeon.) 
" Bravo ! Bravo !" Sir Peter cries, — " Logic for ever ! 
This beats my grandmother, — and she was clever. 
But now I think on't, 'twould be mighty hard 
If merit such as thine met no reward : 
30 



550 UNITED ST4TES SPEAKER. 

To show how much I logic love, in course 

I'll make thee master of a chestnut-horse." 

" A horse !" quoth Tom, "blood, pedigree, and paces! 

Oh, what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races I" 

Tom dreamt all night of boots and leather breecnes, 

Of hunting cats and leaping rails and ditches ; 

Rose the next morn an hour before the lark, 

And dragged his uncle, fasting, to the park ; 

Bridle in hand, each vale he scours of course 

To find out something like a chestnut-horse ; 

But no such animal the meadows cropt ; 

Till under a large tree Sir Peter stopt, 

Caught at a branch and shook it, when down fell 

A fine horse-chestnut in its prickly shell. 

" There, Tom, take that ;" " Well, sir, and what beside V 

" Why, since you're booted, saddle it and ride." 

" Ride i what, a chestnut, sir ?" " Of course, 

For I can prove that chestnut is a horse : 

Not from the doubtful, fusty, musty rules 

Of Locke and Bacon, antiquated fools ; 

Nor old Malebranche, blind pilot into knowledge ; 

But by the laws of wit and Eton college : 

As you have proved, and which I don't deny, 

That a pie-John's the same as a John-pie. 

The matter follows, as a thing of course, 

That a horse-chestnut is a chestnut-horse." 



21. THE COMET AND THE GREAT BEAR. AnOtiymOXU 

Farmer Grumbo, they say, had but just come to town 

With his daughter so fair and so bright ; 
As the streets all the day they walked up and down, 
The wondrous report met the ears of the clown, 
Of the comet appearing at night. 

Now the farmer much wished this famed comet to see, 

But to look for it could not tell where ; 
So a stranger he asked, where the object could be. — 
"If the night should be fine, I fancy," said he, 
" 'Twill be seen very near the great bear." 

Now the farmer knew nothing about the great bear, 
Thus as wise as before was he \ — 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 351 

So he says to another, " Pray can you tell where 
The great bear I may see V 9 Says the man with a stare, 
" At the tower I fancy it be." 

Now thinking the tower some well-chosen spot, 
From whence might be viewed such a sight, 

And near it stood some public-house, or what not, 

Which for its sign, too, a great bear had got, 
He received the reply with delight. 

So straight to the tower the old farmer goes, 

And approaching the yeoman that's there, 
Saith he, " Here be I, and my own daughter Rose, 
We wishes to see the fine sight ere it goes, 

So pray, sir, show us the great bear." 

" Give me sixpence a-piece then," the old yeoman said, 

The farmer and daughter both stare ; 
After musing awhile, the shilling is paid, 
They are straight to the royal menagerie led, 

And the yeoman shows Grumbo, the — bear. 

Now Grumbo, astonished, the animals eyed, 

And the den he approached in great fear ; 
Then looking about him, he eagerly cried, 
" I don't see the comet !" The yeoman replied — ■ 

" Bless you, sir, we have no such beast here." 

The farmer perceiving some trick he was played, 

In a rage asks his money again ; 
To the yeoman he told what the two men had said, 
But the yeoman was not at his rudeness dismayed, 

And he thus did the mystery explain : — 

" What the gentlemen told you," said he, " is quite true, 

For io ! in your daughter, so fair, 
A comet in beauty's bright sphere we may view, 
And while she keeps close to a brute such as you, 

She is seen very near the great bear !" 

Grumbo now left the place in a rage and despair, 

And returned to his lodgings once more : 
Says he to his host, with a look full of care, 
u Folks may think what they please of the famous great bear, 

It to me proves a very great — bore , " 



352 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



22. the pair of beasts. — Anonymous. 

Ralph Clod, a yeoman of the west, 
The sun of science ne'er had blest ; 
Yet fortune managed so his store, 
His flocks increased, his bags ran o'er, 
Resolved (though Tommy was no fool) 
To send his darling son to school ; 

In haste to Master B repairs, 

To show the lad, and end his cares. 
He came ; he bowed ; and thus began — 
(For Ralph was a well-spoken man !) 

" Why Master B I understand 

That larning's better far than land ; 
And so I've brought my boy along, 
To beg you'll teach him right from wrong ! 
For Tom, if means are rightly follord, 
Will make a most prodigious schollard ! 

So Master B , as I hate arguing, 

'Twere best 'forehand to strike a bargain ; 

Name you your terms, or high or low, 

And then I'll answer yes or no." 

u Sir," says the scholar, " if my skill 

You'd make subservient to your will, 

To guide the youth through learning's grounds 

I for my labor ask ten pounds." 

Amazed the astonished rustic cries, 

(Fixed like the statue of surprise.) 

"Ten pounds ! why, what in wonder ! — what ! 

Am I awake or not ? 

Why sure, my friend, you do but jest. — 

Ten pounds ! adzooks ! 'twill buy a beast !" 

" A beast !" — the tutor cried — " 'tis true ! 

And in the end you'll find you've two !" 



23. apology for the pig. — Southey. 

Jacob, I do not love to see thy nose 
Turned up in scornful curve at yonder pig. 
It would be well, my friend, if we, like him, 
Were perfect in our kind. And why despise 
The sow — bora grunter ? He is obstinate, 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 353 

Thou answerest ; ugly ; and the filthiest beast 
That banquets upon offal. Now I pray thee 
Hear the pig's counsel. 

Is he obstinate ? 
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words, 
By sophist sounds. A democratic beast, 
He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek 
Their profit and not his. He hath not learned 
That pigs were made for man, born to be brawned 
And baconized. As for his ugliness — 
Nay, Jacob, look at him ; 
Those eyes have taught the lover flattery. 
Behold his tail, my friend ; with curls like that 
The wanton hop marries her stately spouse : 
And what is beauty but the aptitude 
Of parts harmonious ; give fancy scope, 
And thou wilt find that no imagined change 
Can beautify the beast. All would but mar 
His pig perfection. 

The last charge, — he lives 
A dirty life. Here I could shelter him 
With precedents right reverend and noble, 
And show by sanction of authority 
That 'tis a very honorable thing 
To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest 
On better ground the unanswerable defense. 
The pig is a philosopher, who knows 
No prejudice. Dirt ? Jacob, what is dirt 1 
If matter, why the delicate dish that tempts 
The o'ergorged epicure is nothing more. 
And there, that breeze 

Pleads with me, and has won thee to the smile 
That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossomed field 
Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise. 



24. HODGE AND THE VICAR. AnOUJ/mOUS. 

Hodge, a poor honest country lout, 
Not overstocked with learning, 

Chanced, on a summer's eve, to meet 
The vicar, home returning. 
30* 



354 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

" Ah ! master Hodge," the vicar cried, 
u What still as wise as ever ? 

The people in the village say- 
That you are wondrous clever n 

" Why, master parson, as to that 
I beg you'll right conceive me, 

I do na brag, but yet I know 

A thing or two, believe me." 

" We'll try your skill," the parson cried, 

" For learning what digestion : 
And this you'll prove, or right or wrong, 

By solving me a question : 

" Noah of old three babies had, 

Or grown-up children rather ; 
Shem, Ham, and Japhet they were called : 

Now, who was Japhet's father V 9 

" Rat it !" cried Hodge, and scratched his head, 

" That does my wits belabor : 
But howsomde'er, I'll homeward run, 

And ax old Giles, my neighbor." 

To Giles he went, and put the case 
With circumspect intention : 

II Thou fool," cried Giles, " I'll make it clear, 

To thy dull comprehension. 

" Three children has Tom Long, the smith, 

Or cattle-doctor rather ; 
Tom, Dick, and Harry, they are called : 

Now, who is Harry's father V 9 

" Adzooks ! I have it," Hodge replied, 
" Right well I know your lingo ; 

Who's Harry's father ? stop — here goes — * 
Why Tom Long Smith, by jingo." 

Away he ran to find the priest 

With all his might and main, 
Who with good humor instant put 

The question once again : 



COMIC AND AMUSING. *55 

u Noah of old three babies had, 

Or grown-up children rather ; 
Shem, Ham, and Japhet they were called : 

Now who was Japhet's father P* 

" I have it now," Hodge grinning cried, 

" I'll answer like a proctor ; 
Who's Japhet's father ? now I know ; 

Why Tom Long Smith, the doctor." 



25. PAPER A CONVERSATIONAL PLEASANTRY. Franklin. 

Some wit of old — such wits of old there were — 
Whose hints showed meaning, whose allusions care, 
— By one brave stroke to mark all human kind, 
Called clear blank paper every infant mind ; 
Where still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, 
Fair virtue put a seal, or vice a blot. 

The thought was happy, pertinent, and true ! — 
Methinks a genius might the plan pursue. 
I — (can you pardon my presumption ?) — I, 
No wit, no genius, yet, for once, will try. 

Various the papers, various wants produce ; 
The wants of fashion, elegance, and use. 
Men are as various ; and, if right I scan, 
Each sort of paper represents some man. 

Pray note the fop ; — half powder, and half lace ! 
Nice as a bandbox were his dwelling-place. 
He's the gilt paper which apart you store, 
And lock from vulgar hands in the 'scrutoir. 

Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth, 

Are copy paper of inferior worth ! 

Less prized ; more useful ; for your desk decreed ; 

Free to all pens, and prompt at every need. 

The wretch whom avarice bids to pinch and spare, 
Starve, cheat, and pilfer, to enrich an heir, 
Is coarse brown paper ; such as pedlers choose 
To wrap up wares which better men will use. 



35fl UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

Take next the miser's contrast ; who destroys 
Health, fame, and fortune in a round of joys. 
Will any paper match him ? Yes, throughout : 
He's a true sinking paper, past all doubt. 

The retail politician's anxious thought 

Deems this side always right, and that stark naught : 

He foams with censure ; with applause he raves ; 

A dupe to rumors, and a tool to knaves : 

He'll want no type his weakness to proclaim, 

While such a thing as foolscap has a name. 

The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high , 
Who picks a quarrel if you step awry ; 
Who can't a jest, a hint, a look endure ! — 
What is he ? — What ? — touch paper to be sure. 

What are our poets ? (take them as they fall — 
Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all,) 
Them and their works in the same class you'll find : 
They are — the mere waste paper of mankind. 

Observe the maiden, innocently sweet ! 
She's fair white paper ! an unsullied sheet ; 
On which the happy man whom fate ordains, 
May write his name, and take her for his pains. 

One instance more, and only one, I'll bring ! 

'Tis the great man who scorns a little thing ; 

Whose thought, whose deeds, whose maxims are his owxx 

Formed on the feelings of his heart alone. 

True, genuine, royal paper is his breast : 

Of all the kinds, most precious, purest, best. 



26. toby tosspot. — Colman. 

Alas ! what pity 'tis that regularity, 

Like Isaac Shove's is such a rarity, 
But there are swilling wights in London town 

Termed — jolly dogs, — choice spirits — alias swine, 
Who pour in midnight revel, bumpers down, 

Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine. 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 357 

These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thns run on, 
Dozing with headaches till the afternoon, 

Lose half men's regular estate of sun, 
By borrowing too largely of the moon. 

One of this kidney, — Toby Tosspot hight- 



Was coming from the Bedford late at night: 
And being Bacchi plenus, — full of wine, 
Although he had a tolerable notion 
Of aiming at progressive motion, 
'Twasn't direct — — 'twas serpentine. 
He worked with sinuosities, along, 
Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a cork, 
Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong — a fork. 

At length, with near four bottles in his pate, 

He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate, 

When reading, " Please to ring the bell," 

And being civil beyond measure, 
" Ring it !" says Toby — " Very well ; 

I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure." 
Toby, the kindest soul in all the town, 
Gave it a jerk that almost jerked it down. 

He waited full two minutes — no one came ; 

He waited full two minutes more ; — and then, 
Says Toby, " If he's deaf, I'm not to blame ; 

I'll pull it for the gentleman again." 

But the first peal 'woke Isaac in a fright, 

Who, quick as lightning, popping up his head, 
Sat on his head's antipodes, in bed, 

Pale as a parsnip, — bolt upright. 

At length, he wisely to himself doth say, — calming his fears,— 
■ Tush ! 'tis some fool has rung and run away ;" 
When peal the second rattled in his ears ! 

Shove jumped into the middle of the floor ; 

And, trembling at each breath of air that stirred, 
He groped down stairs, and opened the street-door, 

While Toby was performing peal the third. 

Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant, — 

And saw he was a strapper stout and tall, 
Then put this question ; — " Pray, sir, what d'ye want ?" 

Says Toby, — " I want nothing, sir, at all." 



§58 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

" Want nothing ! — Sir, you've pulled my bell, I vow, 

As if you'd jerk it off the wire." 
Quoth Toby, — gravely making him a bow, — 

" I pulled it, sir, at your desire." 

" At mine !" — " Yes, yours ; I hope I've done it well ; 

High time for bed, sir : I was hastening to it ; 
But if you write up — ' Please to ring the bell,' 

Common politeness makes me stop and do it." 



27. FRANK HAYMAN. Taylor. 

Frank Hayman dearly loved a pleasant joke, 
And after long contention with the gout, 
A foe that oft besieged him, sallied out 

To breathe fresh air, and appetite provoke. 
It chanced as he was strolling void of care, 
A drunken porter passed him with a hare ; 

The hare was o'er his shoulder flung, 
Dangling behind in piteous plight, 
And as he crept in zigzag style, 
Making the most of every mile, 

From side to side poor pussy swung, 
As if each moment taking flight. 

A dog who saw the man's condition, 
A lean and hungry politician, 
On the lookout, was close behind — - 
A sly and subtle chap, 
Of most sagacious smell, 
Like politicians of a higher kind, 
Ready to snap 
At any thing that fell. 

The porter staggered on, the dog kept near, 

Watching each lucky moment for a bite, 
Now made a spring, and then drew back in fear, 

While Hayman followed, tittering at the sight. 
Through many a street our tipsy porter goes, 

Then 'gainst a cask in solemn thought reclined 
The watchful dog the happy moment knows, 

And Hayman cheers him on not far behind, 



COMIC AND AMUSING, 859 

Encouraged thus — what dog would iite refrain ' 
He jumped and bit, and jumped and bit, and jumped and 
bit again ; 

Till having made a hearty meal, 

He careless turned upon his heel, 

And trotted at his ease away, 

Nor thought of asking — " what's to pay V 9 

And here some sage, with moral spleen may say, 
" This Hayman should have driven the dog away ! 
The effects of vice the blameless should not bear, 
And folks that are not drunkards lose their hare." 

Not so unfashionably good, 

The waggish Hayman laughing stood, 

Until our porter's stupor o'er, 

He jogged on tottering as before, 

Unconscious any body kind 

Had eased him of his load behind ;— 

Now on the houses bent his eye, 

As if his journey's end were nigh, 

Then read a paper in his hand, 

And made a stand. 

Hayman drew near with eager mien, 
To mark the closing of the scene, 

His mirth up to the brim ; 
The porter read the address once more, 
And hicuped, " where's one Hayman's door ! 
I've got a hare for him !" 



28. Christmas times. — Anonymous. 

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the housa 
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. 
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, 
In the hope that St. Nicholas* soon would be there. 
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, 
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads, 
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, 
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap ; 
When out on the lawn there rose such a clatter, 
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. 
Away to the window I flew like a flash, 
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash, 

* Santa Ciaiis. 



3G0 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, 

Gave the lustre of midday to objects below. 

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, 

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer, 

With a little old driver so lively and quick, 

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. 

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, 

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name t 

" Now, Dasher ! now, Dancer ! now, Prancer ! now, Vixen ' 

On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on, Dunder and Blixen ! 

To the top of the porch ! to the top of the wall ! 

Now dash away ! dash away ! dash away all !" 

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly, 

When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky, 

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, 

With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas too. 

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, 

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof ; 

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, 

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot ; 

A bundle of toys was flung on his back, 

And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack ; 

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry, 

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; 

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow , 

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, 

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath, 

He had a broad face, and a little round belly, 

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, 

And 1 laughed when I saw him in spite of myself. 

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, 

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread ; 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, 

And filled all his stockings ; then turned with a jerk, 

And laying his finger aside of his nose, 

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, 

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle ; 

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, 

" Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night." 



COMIC AND AMUSINO. 361 



29. the cow and the ass. — Anonymous. 

Hard by a green meadow a stream used to flow, 
So clear one might see the white pebbles below ; 
To this cooling stream the warm cattle would stray, 
To stand in the shade on a hot summer's day. 

A cow, quite oppressed with the heat of the sun, 
Came here to refresh as she often had done ; 
And standing stock still, leaning over the stream, 
Was musing, perhaps, or perhaps she might dream* 

But soon a brown ass of respectable look, 

Came trotting up also to taste of the brook, 

A.nd to nibble a few of the daises and grass : 

11 How d'ye do ?" said the cow, " how d'ye do V 9 said the ass. 

" Take a seat," cried the cow, gently waving her hand, 
" By no means, dear madam," said he, "while you stand f 
Then stooping to drink, with a complaisant bow, 
"Ma'am, your health," said the ass, — "thank you, sir," said 
the cow. 

When a few of these compliments more had been past, 
They laid themselves down on the herbage at last, 
And waiting politely as gentlemen must, 
The ass held his tongue, that the cow might speak first. 

Then with a deep sigh, she directly began, 
" Don't you think, Mr. Ass, we are injured by man ? 
'Tis a subject that lays with a weight on my mind : 
We certainly are much oppressed by mankind. 

Now what is the reason ? I see none at all, 
That I always must go when Suke chooses to call : 
"Whatever I'm doing, 'tis certainly hard, 
At once I must go to be milked in the yard. 

I've no will of my own, bat must do as they please, 
And give them my milk to make butter and cheese ; 
I've often a vast mind to knock down the pail, 
Or give Suke a box of the ears with my taiL w 

31 



362 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

" But ma'am," said the ass, " not presuming to teach — 

dear, I beg pardon,- — pray finish your speech ; 

1 thought you had done, ma'am indeed," said the swain, 
" Go on, and I'll not interrupt you again." 

" Why, sir, I was only going to observe, 

I'm resolved, that these tyrants no longer I'll serve ; 

But leave them for ever to do as they please, 

And look somewhere else for their butter and cheese." 

Ass waited a moment, to see if she'd done, 
And then, " not presuming to teach" — he begun — 
" With submission, dear madam, to your better wit, 
I own I am not quite convinced by it yet. 

That you're of great service to them is quite true, 
But surely they are of some service to you ; 
'Tis their nice green meadows in which you regale, 
They feed you in winter when grass and weeds fail. 

Tis under their shelter you snugly repose, 
When without it, dear ma'am, you perhaps might be froze. 
For my own part, I know, I receive much from man, 
And for him in return, I do all that I can." 

The cow upon this cast her eyes on the grass, 
Not pleased at thus being reproved by an ass ; 
Yet, thought she, I'm determined I'll benefit by't, 
For I really believe that the fellow is right. 



30. THE FRENCHMAN AND THE RATS. AnonymOUS. 

A Frenchman once, who was a merry wight, 
Passing to town from Dover in the night, 
Near the roadside an ale-house chanced to spy : 
And being rather tired as well as dry, 
Resolved to enter ; but first he took a peep, 
In hopes a supper he might get, and cheap. 
He enters : " hallo ! Garcon if you please, 
Bring me a little bit of bread and cheese. 
And hallo ! Garcon, a pot of portar too !" he said, 
" Yich I shall take, and den myself to bed." 

His supper done, some scraps of cheese were left, 
Which our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft, 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 363 

Into his pocket put ; then slowly crept 
To wished-for bed ; but not a wink he slept — 
For, on the floor, some sacks of flour were laid, 
To which the rats a nightly visit paid. 

Our hero now undressed, popped out the light, 
Put on his cap and bade the world good-night ; 
But first his breeches, which contained the fare, 
Under his pillow he had placed with care. 

Sans cersmonie, soon the rats all ran, 
And on the flour-sacks greedily began ; 
At which they gorged themselves ; then smelling round, 
Under the pillow soon the cheese they found; 
And while at this they regaling* sat, 
Their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap ; 
Who, half awake, cries out, " Hallo ! hallo ! 
Vat is dat nibbel at my pillow so ? 
Ah ! 'tis one big huge rat ! 
Vat de diable is it he nibbel, nibbel at V 

In vain our little hero sought repose ; 
Sometimes the vermin galloped o'er his nose ; 
And such the pranks they kept up all the night 
That he, on end antipodes upright, 
Bawling aloud, called stoutly for a light. 
" Hallo ! Maison ! Garqon, I say ! 
Bring me the bill for vat I have to pay !" 
The bill was brought, and to his great surprise, 
Ten shillings was the charge, he scarce believes his eyes , 
With eager haste, he runs it o'er, 
And every time he viewed it thought it more. 
" Vy zounds, and zounds !" he cries, "I sail no pay; 
Vat charge ten shelangs for vat I have mange ? 
A leetal sup of portar, dis vile bed, 
Vare all de rats do run about my head T° 
" Plague on those rats !" the landlord muttered out ; 
" I wish upon my word, that I could make 'em scout : 
I'll pay him well that can." " Vat's dat you say ?" 
" I'll pay him well that can." " Attend to me, I pray s 
Vil you dis charge forego, vat I am at, 
If from your house I drive away de rat?" 
" With all my heart," the jolly host replies, 
" E'coutez done, ami ;" the Frenchman cries 
" First, den — Regardez, if you please, 
Bring to dis spot a leetal bread and cheesa 
Eh bien ! a pot of portar too ; 
And den invite de rats to sup vid yous 



364 UNITED STATES SPEAKER* 

And after — no matter dey be villing — 

For vat dey eat, you charge dem just ten shelang ; 

And I am sure, ven dey behold de score, 

Dey'll quit your house, and never come no more." 



31. occasional prologue. — Anonymous. 

Dear friends, we thank you for your condescension, 

In deigning thus to lend us your attention ; 

And hope the various pieces we recite, 

(Boys though we are,) will yield you some delight 

From wisdom and from knowledge, pleasure springs, 
Surpassing far the glaring pomp of kings ; 
All outward splendor quickly dies away, 
But wisdom's honors never can decay. 

Blest is the man, who treads her paths in youth, 

They lead to virtue, happiness, and truth ; — 

Sages and patriots in these ways have trod, 

Saints have walked in them till they reached their God. 

The powers of eloquence can charm the soul, 
Inspire the virtuous, and the bad control ; 
Can rouse the passions, or their rage can still, 
And mold a stubborn mob to one man's will. 

Such powers the great Demosthenes attained, 
Who naughty Philip's conquering course restrained ; 
Indignant thundering at his country's shame, 
Till every breast in Athens caught the flame. 

Such powers were Cicero's : — with patriot might, 
He dragged the lurking treason forth to light, 
Which long had festered in the heart of Rome, 
And saved his country from her threatened doom* 

Nor to the senate or the bar confined, 
The pulpit shows its influence o'er the mind ; 
Such glorious deeds can eloquence achieve ; 
Such fame, such deathless laurels, it can give. 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 365 

Then say not this our weak attempt is vain, 
For frequent practice will perfection gain; 
The fear to speak in public it destroys, 
And drives away the bashfulness of boys. 

Various the pieces we to-night repeat, 

And in them various excellencies meet, 

Some rouse the soul — some gently soothe the ear, 

* From grave to gay, from lively to severe." 

We would your kind indulgence then bespeak, 
For awkward manner, and for utterance weak, 
Our powers, indeed are feeble ; — but our aim, 
Is not to rival Greek or Roman fame ; 

Our sole ambition aims at your applause, 

We are but young — let youth then plead our cause; 

And if your approbation be obtained, 

Our wish is answered and our end is gained. 



32. occasional epilogue. — Anonymous. 

Our parts are perform'd and our speeches are ended, — 
We are monarchs, and courtiers, and heroes no more ; 

To a much humbler station again we've descended, 

And are now but the schoolboys you've known us befor-a 

Farewell then our greatness — 'tis gone like a dream, 
'Tis gone — but remembrance will often retrace 

The indulgent applause which rewarded each theme, 
And the heart-cheering smiles that enlivened each face. 

We thank you ! — Our gratitude words cannot tell, 

But deeply we feel it — to you it belongs ; 
With heartfelt emotion we bid you farewell, 

And our feelings now thank you much more tftan our tonguea. 

We will strive to improve, since applauses thus cheer us, 
That our juvenile efforts may gain your kind looks ; 

And we hope to convince you the next time you hear us, 
That praise has but sharpen'd our relish for books. 

31* 



368 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 



33. THE MODERN RAKE's PROGRESS. Hurdis. 

The young Tobias was his father's joy ; 
He trained him, as he thought, to deeds of praise ; 
He taught him virtue, and he taught him truth, 
And sent him early to a public school. 
Here, as it seemed, but he had none to blame, 
Virtue forsook him, and habitual vice 
Grew in her stead. He laughed at honesty, 
Became a sceptic, and could raise a doubt 
E'en of his father's truth. 'Twas idly doae 
To tell him of another world, for wits 
Knew better ; and the only good on earth 
Was pleasure ; not to follow that was sin. 
" Sure He that made us, made us to enjoy ; 
And why," said he, " should my fond father prate 
Of virtue and religion ? They afford 
No joys, and would abridge the scanty few 
Of nature. Nature be my deity ; 
Her let me worship, as herself enjoins, 
At the full board of plenty." Thoughtless boy ! 
So to a libertine he grew, a wit, 
A man of honor ; boastful empty names, 
That dignify the villain. 

His father thought 
He grew in wisdom as he grew in years. 
He fondly deemed he could perceive the growth 
Of goodness and of learning, shooting up, 
Like the young offspring of the sheltered hop, 
Unusual progress in a summer's night. 
He called him home, with great applause dismissed 
By his glad tutors — gave him good advice — 
Blessed him, and bade him prosper. With warm heart 
He drew his purse-strings, and the utmost doit 
Placed in the youngster's palm. " Away," he cries, 
" Go to the seat of learning, boy. Be good, 
Be wise, be frugal, for 'tis all I can." 
" I will," said Toby, as he banged the door, 
And winked, and snapped his finger. " Sir, I will." 

So joyM he to Alma Mater went 
A sturdy freshman. See him just arrived, 
Received, matriculated, and resolved 
To drown his freshness in a pipe of port. 
* Quick, Mr. Vintner, twenty dozen more ; 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 367 

Some claret too. Here's to our friends at home. 

There let them doze. Be it our nobler aim 

To live ; — where stands the bottle ?" Then to town 

Hies the gay spark, for futile purposes, 

And deeds, my bashful muse disclaims to name. 

From town to college, till a fresh supply 

Sends him again from college up to town. 

Grievous accounts 
The weekly post to the vexed parent brings, 
Of college impositions, heavy dues, 
Demands enormous, which the wicked son 
Declares he does his utmost to prevent. 
So blaming, with good cause, the vast expense, 
Bill after bill he sends, and pens the draft 
Till the full inkhorn fails. With grateful heart 
Toby receives, short leave of absence begs, 
Obtains it by a lie, — gallops away, 
And no one knows what charming things are done 
Till the gulled boy returns without his pence, 
And prates of deeds unworthy of a brute : 
Vile deeds, but such as in these polished days 
None blames or hides. 

So Toby fares, nor heeds 
Till terms are wasted, and the proud degree, 
Soon purchased, comes his learned toils to crown. 
He swears, and swears he knows not what, nor caies, 
Becomes a perjured graduate, and thinks soon 
To be a candidate for orders. Ah ! 
Vain was the hope. Though many a wolf as fell 
Deceive the shepherd, and devour the flock, 
Thou none shalt injure. On a luckless day, 
Withdrawn to taste the pleasure of the town, 
Heated with wine, a vehement dispute 
With a detested rival, shook th^ r ^of : 
He penned a challenge, sent it, fougnt, and fell ! 



34. the magpie ; or bad COMPANY. — Anonymous. 

Let others, with poetic fire, 

In raptures praise the tuneful choir, 

The linnet, chaffinch, goldfinch, thrush. 

And every warbler of the bush ; 

I sing the mimic magpie's fame, 

In wicker cage, well fed and tame 



383 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

In Fleet-street dwelt, in days of yore, 
A jolly tradesman named Tom More ; 
Generous and open as the day, 
But passionately fond of play ; 
No sounds to him such sweets afford 
As dice-box rattling o'er the board ; 
Bewitching hazard is the game 
For which he forfeits health and fame. 

In basket-prison hung on high, 
With dappled coat and watchful eye, 
A favorite magpie sees the play, 
And mimics every word they say ; 
u Oh, how he nicks us !" Tom More criea 
" Oh, how he nicks us !" Mag replies. 
Tom throws, and eyes the glittering store, 
And as he throws, exclaims " Tom More !* 
" Tom More !" the mimic bird replies ; 
The astonished gamesters lift their eyes, 
And wondering stare, and look around, 
As doubtful whence proceeds the sound. 

This dissipated life, of course, 
Soon brought poor Tom from bad to worse ; 
Nor prayers nor promises prevail, 
To keep him from a dreary jail. 

And now, between each heartfelt sigh, 
Tom oft exclaims " Bad company !" 
Poor Mag, who shares his master's fate, 
Exclaims from out his wicker grate, 
" Bad company ! Bad company !" 
Then views poor Tom with curious eye, — 
And cheers his master's wretched hours 
By this display of mimic powers ; 
The imprisoned bird, though much caressed, 
Is still by anxious cares oppressed ; 
In silence mourns its cruel fate, 
And oft explores his prison gate 

Observe through life you'll always find 
A fellow-feeling makes us kind ; 
So Tom resolves immediately 
To give poor Mag his liberty ; 



COMIC AND AMUSING. 369 

Then opes his cage, and, with a sigh 
Takes one fond look, and lets him fly. 

Now Mag, once more with freedom blest, 
Looks round to find a place of rest ; 
To Temple Gardens wings his way, 
There perches on a neighboring spray. 

The gardener now, with busy cares, 
A curious seed for grass prepares : 
Yet spite of all his toil and pain, 
The hungry birds devour the grain. 

A curious net he does prepare, 
And lightly spreads the wily snare ; 
The feathered plunderers come in view, 
And Mag soon joins the thievish crew. 

The watchful gardener now stands by 
With nimble hand and wary eye ; 
The birds begin their stolen repast, 
The flying net secures them fast. 

The vengeful clown, now filled with ire, 
Does to a neighboring shed retire, 
And, having fast secured the doors 
And windows, next the net explores. 

Now, in revenge for plundered seed, 
Each felon he resolves shall bleed ; 
Then twists their little necks around, 
And casts them breathless on the ground. 

Mag, who with man was used to herd, 
Knew something more than common bird ; 
He therefore watched with anxious care, 
And slipped himself from out the snare, 
Then, perched on nail remote from ground, 
Observes how deaths are dealt around. 
" Oh, how he nicks us !" Maggy cries ; 
The astonished gardener lifts his eyes ; 
With faltering voice and panting breath, 
Exclaims, " Who's there ?" — All still as death. 
His murderous work he does resume, 
And casts his eye around the room 



370 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

With caution, and, at length does spy 

The Magpie, perched on nail so high ! 

The wondering clown, from what he heard, 

Believes him something more than bird ; 

With fear impressed, does now retreat 

Towards the door with trembling feet ; 

Then says — " Thy name I do implore ?* 

The ready bird replies — " Tom More." 

" Oh dear !" the frighted clown replies, 

With hair erect and staring eyes ! 

Half opening then the hovel door, 

He asks the bird one question more : 

" What brought you here ?"— with quick reply, 

Sly Mag rejoins — " Bad company !" 

Out jumps the gardener in a fright, 
And runs away with all his might ; 
And, as he runs, impressed with dread 
Exclaims, " Sure Satan's in the shed !" 

The wond'rous tale a bencher hears, 
And soothes the man, and quells his fears, 
Gets Mag secured in wicker cage, 
Once more to spend his little rage : 
In Temple Hall, now hung on high, 
Mag oft exclaims — " Bad company ! w 



PART THIRD. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 



SELECTION I. 

THE ClfrAHBSK OF SICKNESS. FIRST VOICE SECOND VOICB 

Cotton, 

First Voice, 
How awfui the place — how gloomy — how chill ! 
Where the pangs of disease are lingering still, 
And the iite-puise is fluttering in death. 

Second Voice, 
How delightful the place — how peaceful — how bright! 
There, calmly, and sweetly, the taper's soft light, 
Shines — an image of man's fleeting breath. 

First Voice, 
There the angel of death on the vitals is preying, 
While beauty and loveliness fast are decaying, 
And life's joys are all fading away. 

Second Voice, 
There the spirits of mercy round the pillow are flying, 
As the angel-smile plays on the lips of the dying, 
And hope — cheers the soid with her ray. 

First Voice. 
How the spirit is pained, e'en when loved ones are near, 
Or sympathy bathes its lone couch with a tear ; 
Its hopes are all dead — its joy is despair. 

Second Voice, 
How the holiest endearments that kindred souls cherish, 
Though the mortal decay and its graces all perish, 
Are perfected and purified there 



372 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

First Voice. 
How ghastly the visage of death doth appear, 
How frightful the thought of the shroud and the bier, 
And the blood-crested worm how vile ! 

Second Voice. 
How friendly the hand that faith is now lending, 
How benignant her look o'er the pillow while bending. 
How sweet, how assuring her smile ! 

First Voice. 
There, in triumph, the death-knell is fitfully pealing, 
While the shivering chill to the cold heart is stealing, 
And the life-current warms — no — never — 

Second Voice. 
Hear the joy-speaking voice of some angel calling — 
As the visions of heaven, on the rapt soul are falling, 
And hope — is fruition for ever. 



SELECTION II. 

THE GREEK ORPHAN. PASPATI EPAMINONDAS. ColtOU. 

Paspati. 
Child of the brave ! hear the echo of glory, 

That breaks from the hills of our country now free ; 
And the voice of our fathers — immortal in story, 

Which speaks in the lessons of heroes to thee. 

Epaminondas. 
The sound of the battle I heard on the mountain ; 

The foemen I saw, — Oh, my father was there ! 
I saw his red blood as it gushed like a fountain : 

But what is the echo of glory ! — and where ? 

Paspati. 
tr £\s the sound of the war-song we learned from cur raother 

The war-song of heroes who bled to be free : — 
*Tis the echo we heard on the hills, with our brothers, 

That speaks as the voice of the thunder to thee. 

Epaminondas. 
*Tis the great and good God who talks in the thunder, 

Who breathe»s in the sweet and soft voices of spring; 
He hath broken the yoke of the Turkman asunder, 

And taught us his praises, in boyhood to sing. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 3TJ 

Paspati. 
Thinkest thou it was God, who our green hills defended, 

And nerved to the battle the heroes who bled ? 
Ah ! red were our fields ere the battle was ended, 

Ah ! white are our plains with the bones of the dead. 

Epaminondas. 
All bloody and pale, with his war-clothes around him, 

My father I saw, in his pillared halls laid ; 
Cold and dead was my brother — at evening I found hirr^ 

But the God of good children ne'er made me afraid. 

Paspati. 
And where is thy mother, boy ? lives she to bless thee ? 

Where is thy bower of the jessamin wild ? 
Thou livest in the stranger-land, strangers caress thee, 

Where is the home of thy boyhood, fair child ? 

Epaminondas. 
Oh ! my mother is dead — three long summers have ended 

Since her kind and last kiss on my cheek she impressed— 
An orphan she left me — alone, unbefriended, 

But the God of the orphan — the Greek orphan blessed,— 
For here, in the stranger-land green hills are round me, — 
Home, father, and mother, and brothers have found me ! 



SELECTION III. 

the churchyard, first voice — second voice. — Karamsin. 

First Voice. 
How frightful the grave ! how deserted and drear ! 
With the howls of the storm-wind — the creaks of the biei, 
And the white bones all clattering together ! 

Second Voice. 
How peaceful the grave ! its quiet how deep : 
Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep, 
And flowerets perfume it with ether. 

First Voice. 
There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead, 
And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed, 
And snakes in its nettle-weeds hiss. 
32 



37i UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Second Voice. 
How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb : 
No tempests are there : — but the nightingales come 
And sing their sweet chorus of bliss. 

First Voice. 
The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave : 
'Tis the vulture's abode : — 'tis the wolf's dreary cave, 
Where they tear up the earth with their fangs. 

Second Voice. 
There the rabbit at evening disports with his love, 
Or rests on the sod ; — while the turtles above, 
Repose on the bough that o'erhangs. 

First Voice. 
There darkness and dampness with poisonous breath 
And lothsome decay fill the dwelling of death ; 
And trees are all barren and bare ! 

Second Voice. 
Oh, soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, 
And sweet with the violet's wafted perfume, 
With lilies and jessamin fair. 

First Voice. 
The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears, 
Would fain hurry by, and with trembling and fears, 
He is lanched on the wreck-covered river ! 

Second Voice. 
The traveler, outworn with life's pilgrimage dreary, 
Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary, 
And sweetly reposes for ever. 



SELECTION IV, 

stranger — child. — Hemans. 

Stranger. 
Why wouldst thou leave me, oh ! gentle child 1 
Thy home on the mountain is bleak and wild, 
A straw-roofed cabin with lowly wall — 
Mine is a fair and a pillared hall, 
Where many an image of marble gleams, 
And the sunshine of picture for ever streams. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 375 

Child. 
Oh ! green is the turf where my brothers play, 
Through the long bright hours of the summer-day, 
They find the red cup-moss where they climb, 
And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme, 
And the rocks where the heath-flower blooms they know — 
Stranger! kind stranger ! oh Met me go. 

Stranger. 
Content thee, boy ! in my bower to dwell, 
Here are sweet sounds which thou lovest well ; 
Flutes on the air in the stilly noon, 
Harps which the wandering breezes tune ; 
And the silvery wood-note of many a bird, 
Whose voice was ne'er in thy mountains heard. 

Child. 
Oh ! my mother sings at the twilight's fall, 
A song of the hills far more sweet than all ; 
She sings it under our own green tree, 
To the babe half-slumbering on her knee ; 
I dreamt last night of that music low — 
Stranger ! kind stranger ! oh ! let me go. 

Stranger. 
Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest, 
She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast ; 
Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more, 
Nor hear her song at the cabin door. 
Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh, 
And we'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye. 

Child. 
Is my mother gone from her home away ? — 
But I know that my brothers are there at play. 
I know they are gathering the fox-glove's bell, 
Or the long fern-leaves by the sparkling well, 
Or they lanch their boats where the bright streams flow,— 
Stranger ! kind stranger ! oh ! let me go. 

Stranger. 
Fair child, thy brothers are wanderers now, 
They sport no more on the mountain's brow, 
They have left the fern by the spring's green side, 
And the streams where the fairy barks were tried. 



376 UNITED STATES SPEAKER, 

Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot, 
For thy cabin-home is a lonely spot. 

Child. 
Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill ?— 
But the bird and the blue-fly rove o'er it still ; 
And the red-deer bouud in their gladness free, 
And the heath is bent by the singing bee, 
And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow,- 
Stranger ! kind stranger ! oh ! let me go. 



SELECTION V. 
raimond — procida. — Hemans. 

Procida. And dost thou still refuse to share the glory 
Of this our daring enterprise ? 

Raimond. Oh, father ! 
I too, have dreamt of glory, and the word 
Hath to my soul been as a trumpet's voice, 
Making my nature sleepLess. — But the deeds 
Whereby 'twas won, the high exploits, whose tale 
Bids the heart burn, were of another cast 
Than such as thou requirest. 

Proc. Every deed 
Hath sanctity, if bearing for its aim 
The freedom of our country ; and the sword 
Alike is honored in the patriot's hand, 
Searching, 'midst warrior hosts the heart which gave 
Oppression birth ; or flashing through the gloom 
Of the still chamber, o'er its troubled couch, 
At dead of night. 

Rai. (Turning away.) There is no path but one 
For noble natures. 

Proc. Wouldst thou ask the man 
Who to the earth hath dashed a nation's chains, 
Rent as with heaven's own lightning, by what means 
The glorious end was won ? — Go, swell the acclaim ! 
Bid the deliverer, hail ! and if his path 
To that most bright and sovereign destiny 
Hath led o'er trampled thousands, be it called 
A stern necessity, and not a crime ! 

Rai. Father ! my soul yet kindles at the thought 
Of nobler lessons, in my boyhood learned 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 377 

E'en from thy voice. — The high remembrances 

<_f other days are stirring in the heart 

Where thou didst plant them ; and they speak of men 

Who needed no vain sophistry to gild 

Acts, that would bear heaven's light. — And such be mine! 

Oh, father ! is it yet too late to draw 

The praise and blessings of all valiant hearts 

On our most righteous cause ? 

Proc. What wouldst thou do ? 

Rai. I would go forth, and rouse the indignant land 
To generous combat. Why should freedom strike 
Mantled with darkness ? — Is there not more strength 
E'en in the waving of her single arm 
Than hosts can wield against her ? — I would rouse 
That spirit, whose fire doth press resistless on 
To its proud sphere, the stormy field of fight! 

Proc. Aye ! and give time and warning to the foe 
To gather all his might ! — It is too late. 
There is a work to be this eve begun, 
When rings the vesper bell ! and, long before 
To-morrow's sun hath reached the noonday heaven, 
His throne of burning glory, every sound 
Of the provencal tongue within our walls, 
As by one thunderstroke — you are pale, my son — 
Shall be for ever silenced. 

Rai. What ! such sounds 
As falter on the lip of infancy 
[n its imperfect utterance ? or are breathed 
By the fond mother, as she lulls her babe 1 
Or in sweet hymns, upon the twilight air 
Poured by the timid maid ? — Must all alike 
Be stilled in death ; and wouldst thou tell my heart 
There is no crime in this ? 

Proc. Since thou dost feel 
Such horror of our purpose, in thy power 
Are means that might avert it. 

Rai. Speak ! oh speak ! 

Proc. How would those rescued thousands bless thy name 
Shouldst thou betray us ! 

Rai. Father ! I can bear — 
Aye, proudly woo — the keenest questioning 
Of thy soul-gifted eye ; which almost seems 
To claijti a part of heaven's dread royalty, 
The power that searches thought ! 

32* 



378 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Proc. (After a pause.) Thou hast a brow 
Clear as the day — and yet I doubt thee, Raimo^d ! 
I doubt thee ! — See thou waver not — take heed ! 
Time lifts the veil from all things ! (Exit.) 

Rai. Oh ! bitter day, 
When, at the crushing of our glorious world, 
We start and find men thus ! — Yet be it so ! 
Is not my soul still powerful, in itself 
To realize its dreams 1 — Aye, shrinking not 
From the pure eye of heaven, my brow may well 
Undaunted meet my father's. — But away ! 



SELECTION VI. 

MO R D E N T L E N O X . Holcraft. 

Mordent. We are now in private. 

Lenox. I am glad we are. 

Mor. And now, sir, 1 insist on a clear and explicit answer. 
Where may I find Joanna 1 

Len. Nay, sir, where may I find Joanna ? 

Mor. Mr. Lenox, I will not be trifled with ; where is she ? 

Len. Nor will I be trifled with, Mr. Mordent : I say where 
is she ? The contrivance was your own. I know you. The 
moment you set your eyes on her, you began your treacherous 
plots to secure her affections ; and, when you found I would 
not resign mine at your persuasion, you put them in practice, 
while you treacherously pretended to secure her to me. I tell 
you, I know you. 

Mor. This will not serve, sir ; it is all evasion. 

Len. Ay, sir, it is evasion ! cunning, cruel, base evasion ! 
and I affirm she is in your possession. 

Mor. Mr. Lenox, I am at this moment a determined and 
desperate man, and must be answered. Where is she ? 

Len. Sir, I am as determined and desperate as yourself, 
and I say where is she ? For you alone can tell. 

Mor. 'Tis false ! 

Len. False 1 

Mor. Ay, false ! 

Len. (Going up to him.) He is the falsest of the false that 
dares whisper such a word. 

Mor. Hark ye, sir ! I understand your meaning, and came 
purposely provided. (Draws a pair of pistols.) Take your 
choice ; they are loaded. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 379 

Len. Oh! with all my heart! Come, sir! 

Mor. [Approaching sternly.) Nigher ! 

Len. As nigh as you please. 

Mor. (Placing himself.) Foot to foot ! 

Len. (Both presenting.) Muzzle to muzzle! 

Mor. Why do ri t you fire ? 

Len. Why don't you unlock your pistol ? 

Mor. (After unlocking it.) There ! 

Len. Why do you turn it out of the line 1 (Pause.) I see 
your intention. Mordent, you are tired of life and want me to 
murder you. Hang it, man, that is not treating your friend like 
a friend. Kill me if you will, but don't make me your assassin. 

Mor. Nay, kill me, or tell me where I may find the wretched 
Joanna. 

Len. Fiends seize me, if I can tell you ! I know not where, 
or what is become of her. 

Mor. Your behavior tells me you are sincere ; and to con- 
vince you at once that I am no less so, know — she is my 
daughter. 

Len. Your daughter! — I'll seek the world through with 
you to find her. Forgive me ! 

Mor. Would I could forgive myself ! 

Len. But it seems, then, she has escaped, and is perhaps in 
safety. 

Mor. Oh ! that she were ! Let us retire. 



SELECTION VII. 

ALBERTO THEODORE. AnonymOUS. 

Alberto. Enter and fear not, trembler. Thou shalt live. 

Theodore. Ay, that I feared. 

Alb. Dost hear me, boy ? I say, 
That thou shalt live. 

Theo. I feared so. 

Alb. Wouldst thou die 1 

Theo. If it pleased heaven, most willingly. I know- 
That I'm a prisoner. I shall never walk 
In the sun's blessed light, or feel the touch 
Of the fresh air, or hear the summer brook 
All idly babbling to the moon, or taste 
The morning breath of flowers. The thousand charm* 
Which make in our Sicilian isle mere life 



380 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

A thrilling pleasantness, which send a glow 

Through the poorest serf that tills the happy soil — 

I am shut out from all. This is my tomb. 

Uncle, be merciful ! I do not ask 

My throne again. Reign ! Reign ! I have forgot 

That I was once a king. But let me bide 

In some small woodland cottage, where green leaves 

May wave around me, and cool breezes kiss 

My brow. Keep me not in a dungeon, uncle, 

Of this dark gloomy chamber. Let me dwell 

In some wild forest. I'll not breathe a word 

That might be dangerous. No ! not to the birds, 

My songsters, or the fawns, my playmates, uncle. 

Thou ne'er shalt hear of me again. 

Alb. Boy! boy! 
Cling not about me thus. 

Theo. Thou wilt have mercy ; 
Thy heart is softening. 

All. 'Tis too late. To reign, 
And he at liberty ! I am a child 
Myself, that, won by this child's gentleness, 
I seemed to waver. Boy, thy fate is fixed ! 
Thyself hast said it. Thou'rt a prisoner, 
And for thy whole life long ; a caged bird. 
Be wiser than the feathered fool that beats 
His wings against the wire. Thou shalt have all 
Thy heart can ask, save freedom, and that — never ! 
I tell thee so in love, and not in hate ; 
For I would root out hope and fear, and plant 
Patience in thy young soul. 
Rest thee content. No harm shall happen thee. 

[Exit Alberto.) 

Theo. Content! Oh mockery of grief ! content! 
Was't not enough to take away my crown, 
To mew me up here in a living tomb, 
Cut off from human ties ; but my jailer 
Must bid me be content ! Would I were dead ! 
Forgive me, heaven, for my impatience ! 
I will take better thoughts. 'Tis but to fancy 
This room a quiet hermitage, and pray 
As hermits use through the long silent hours. 
I shall be innocent. Sure he's a friend 
That shuts me out from sin. Did he not call me 
A ca^ed bird ? I've seen one prune himself, 
And hop from perch to perch, and chirp and sing 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 381 

Merrily ! Happy fool, it had forgot 

Blithe liberty ! But man, though he should drag 

A captive's heavy chain, even till he starts 

To hear his own sad voice, cannot forget 

lie wants that blessed gift. 



SELECTION VIII. 

ATHELWOLD EDWIN PILGRIM. MaSOH. 

Athelwold. Banish me ! No. I'll die. For why should life 
Remain a lonely lodger in that breast 
Which honor leaves deserted ? Idle breath ! 
Thou canst not fill such vacancy. Begone. 
This sword shall free — 

Pilgrim. Oh shame to fortitude ! 
Shame to that manly passion, which inspires 
Its vigorous warmth, when the bleak blasts of fate 
Would chill the soul. Oh call fair ready virtue 
Quick to thy aid, for she is ever near thee ; 
Is ever prompt to shed her sevenfold shield 
O'er noble breasts. 

AtheL And but o'er noble breasts ; 
Not o'er the breast which livid infamy 
Indelibly hath spotted. Oh shame, shame ! 
Sword, rid me of the thought. 

PiL Forbear, forbear ; 
Think what a sea of deep perdition whelms 
The wretch's trembling soul, who Ian dies forth 
Unlicensed to eternity. Think, think ; 
And let the thought restrain thine impious hand. 
The race of man is one vast marshaled army, 
Bummoned to pass the spacious realms of time, 
Their leader the Almighty. In that march — 
Ah ! who may quit his post ? when high in air 
The chosen archangel rides, whose right hand wields 
The imperial standard of heaven's providence, 
Which, dreadly sweeping through the vaulted sky, 
O'ershadows all creation. 

AtheL I was once — 
Yes, I was once, I have his royal word for it, 
A man of such tried faith, such steady honor, 
As mocked all doubt and scruple. — What a change ! 
Now must that unstained, virgin character, 
Be doomed to gross and hourly prostitution 



3&2 UNITED STATES SPEAKER* 

Sating the lust of slander ; and my wife, 
My chaste ELfrida ! Oh distraction, no. 
I'll fly to save her. 

Edwin, Stay, my dearest master ; 
You rush on instant death. 

Athel. I mean it, slave, 
And wouldst thou hinder me 1 

Ed. Yes, sir, I hold 
*Tis duty to my king, and love to you, 
Thus to oppose your entrance. 

Athel. What ! thou traitor ! — 
Thy pardon, Edwin, I forgot myself; 
Forgot, that I stood here a banished man ; 
And that this gate was shut against its master. 
Oh earth, cold earth, 

Upon whose breast I cast this load of misery, 
Bear it awhile ; and you, ye aged oaks, 
Ye venerable fathers of this wood, 
Who oft have cooled beneath your arching shades 
My humble ancestors ; oft seen them hie 
To your spread umbrage, from yon sultry field, 
Their scene of honest labor ; shade, ah ! shade 
The last, the wretchedest of all their race. 
I will not long pollute ye ; for I mean 
To pay beneath your consecrated gloom 
A sacrifice to honor, and the ghosts 
Of those progenitors, who sternly frown 
On me, their base descendant. 

Ed. See, thou Pilgrim, 
How horror shades his brow ; how fixed his eye ; 
Heavens ! what despair. 

Pil. Edwin, 'tis ever thus 
With noble minds, if chance they slide to folly ; 
Remorse stings deeper and relentless conscience 
Pours more of gall into the bitter cup 
Of their severe repentance. 



SELECTION IX. 

CASV/ALLON FITZ-EDWARD. WalkcT. 

Caswallon. Off. — I have strength in this unwearied arm— 
(Recognizing his son.) Ha ! is it thou ? 

Friz-Edward. Turn not away. — One word — 
Upon my knees I beg it. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL 383 

Cas. Let it be 
A brief one, then. — What wouldst thou ? 

Fitz-Ed. Oh, my father ! — 
The tempest that my slighted speech foretold, 
Hath it not burst upon thee ! 

Cas. And 'tis this — 
To tell me this, that thou art here — to vaunt 
Thy skill in divination ? 

Fitz-Ed. No. — I come 
To break thy commerce with the midnight wolf — 
To pluck thee from the lair where foxes litter : — 
Restoring thee to all those social joys 
That flow from man's communion with his kind ■ — 
To place thee once again — 

Cas. Beware — beware. — 
If I thought that — thou knowest my temper — hence, 
Nor urge it farther. 

Fitz-Ed. Oh, I must, and thou 
Must hear me, too. — Enough of constancy — 
Enough of valor hath thy heart displayed. — 
We are a fallen people. — To contend 
With fortune now, were desperate vanity. 
The sceptre hath departed from our land : — 
The kingly sway- — 

Cas. Patience — oh, patience, heart ! — 

Fitz-Ed. Nay, hear me on. — Is not all lost ? — and thou— 
Dost thou still singly labor to oppose 
The common doom ? — oh, idle all. — There now 
Is left thee but one w r ay to save thyself : — 
But one — and I must speak it, howsoe'er 
It grates against thine ear — it jars within 
Thy bosom — I must speak it — 'tis submission. 

Cas. Heaven ! — are thy thunders idle ? — and thou, earth 
That yet endurest his tread ! — thou wilt not part 
Beneath him, and deep hide his infamy ! 
No — thou disdainest that such a rank pollution 
Should rest within thy bosom ! — This to me ! — 
Submission ! — Breathes the recreant to confront 
Caswallon with such counsel 1 — Yes — behold him ! — 
There — with the uttered wish — the hateful hope 
Fresh reeking from his lips, he stands before me — 
Endless disgrace ! — a Cambrian, and — my son ! 

Fitz-Ed. Yet — yet I will be patient. 

Cas. No — thou blot 
On the pure 'scutcheon of thy noble fathers — 



ill UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Thor shalt not plume thee in my fall, nor show me 
A hiwbled spectacle to swell thy pride 
With — " Lo ! my work, and there the untamable !" — 
I read thy heart's deep purpose. 

Fits-Ed. Dreadful thought !— 
'Tis not within thy hate's extremest bound 
To think me so immeasurably base — 
Oh, these hot stinging tears ! — 
Away, weak heart f — 
In upright conscious honesty, I stand — 
And shake thy loose aspersions from my soul, 
As lightly as the falcon from her wing 
The dews of evening. 

Cas. I will not hear thee. — Hence. 

Fitz-Ed. Obdurate man, bow thy proud spirit down, 
If ta'en thou diest. — Submit, and thou shalt live : — 
(Imploringly upon his knees.) Beloved father ! 
By heaven's whole host, I will not see thee lost ! — 

(Starting up resolvedly.) 
No — if thou scorn to yield, I'll instant hence, 
And to the troops that now beset thee round, 
Reveal the secret of thy lurking place. 

Cas. Reveal ! — betray me to — ? 
But no — thou art 
Caswallon's son, and thus far he will trust thee* 

Fitz-Ed. Oh, agony of heart ! 

Cas. (Going.) Nay, follow not. 
Attempt to stay me, and a father's curse 
Cling to thy soul, and hold thee lost for ever ! (Exit.) 

Fitz-Ed. Hark ! — are there thunders crashing in the air ! 
Or what is't stirs my brain 1 — a father's curse ! — 
It fell not — 'tis not that that rages here. 
That misery still is spared me. He is gone ! 



SELECTION X. 

VERNER TELL PIERRE THEODORE SARNEM MICHAEL- 
SOLDIERS and people. — Knowles. 

( The people have gathered to one side, and look in the opposite 
direction with apprehension and trouble.) 

Verner. Now Tell observe the people. 

Tell. Ha! they please me now — I like them now— their looks 
Ire just in season. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 385 

Pierre, 'Tis Sarnem. 

Theodore. What is that he brings with him ? 

Pierre. A pole ; and on the top of it a cap 
That looks like Gesler's — I could pick it from 
A thousand ! 

Theo. So could I ! — My heart hath oft 
Leaped at the sight of it. What comes he now 
To do? 

(Sarnem enters with soldiers bearing Gesler's cap upon a pole, 
which he fixes into the ground ; the people looking on in silence 
and amazement.) 

Sarnem. Ye men of Altorf ! 
Behold the emblem of your master's power 
And dignity. This is the cap of Gesler, 
Your governor ; let all bow down to it 
Who owe him love and loyalty. To such 
As shall refuse this lawful homage, or 
Accord it sullenly, he shows no grace, 
But dooms them to the penalty of bondage 
Till they're instructed — 'tis no less their gain 
Than duty, to obey their master's mandate. 
Conduct the people hither, one by one, 
To bow to Gesler's cap. 

Tell. Have I my hearing ? 

Ver. Away! away! 

Tell. Or sight ?— They do it, Yerner ! 
They do it ! Look ! Ne'er call me man again ! 
I'll herd with the baser animals .' 
Look ! — Look ! Have I the outline of that caitiff 
Who to the servile earth doth bend the crown 
His god did rear for him to heaven 1 

Ver. Away, 
Before they mark us. 

Tell. No ! no ! — since I've tasted, 
Til e'n feed on. 
A spirit's in me likes it. 

Sar. (Striking a person.) Bow lower, slave ! 

Tell. Do you feel that blow — rny flesh doth tingle with it, 
I would it had been I ! 

Ver. You tremble, William ; come — you must not stay. 
(Enter Michael through the crowd.) 

Sar. Bow, slave. 

Michael. For what ? 

Sar. Obey, and question then. 

33 



386 UNITED STATES SPEAKER- 

Mich. I'll question now, perhaps not then obey 

Tell. A man ! a man ! 

Sar. Tis Gesler's will that all 
Bow to that cap. 

Mich. Were it thy lady's cap, 
I'd courtesy to it. 

Sar. Do you mock us, friend ? 

Mich, Not I. I'll bow to Gesler, if you please ; 
But not his cap, nor cap of any he 
In christendon. 

Tell Well done ! 
The lion thinks as much of cowering. 

Sar. Once for all bow to that cap. 
Do you hear me, slave 1 

Mich. Slave ! 

Tell. A man ! I'll swear a man ! Don't hold me, Verner. 

Sar. Villain, bow 
To Gesler's cap ! 

Mich. No ! not to Gesler's self. 

Sar. Seize him. (Soldiers come forward.) 

Tell. (Rushing forward.) Off, off, you base and hireling 
pack! 
Lay not your brutal touch upon the thing 
God made in his own image. 

Sar. What ! shrink you, cowards ? Must I do 
Tour duty for you ? 

Tell. Let them stir — I've scattered 
A flock of wolves did outnumber them — 
For sport I did it. — Sport ! — I scattered them 
With but a staff, not half so thick as this. 
(Wrests Sarneirfs weapon from him — Sarnem and Soldiers fly \) 
Men of Altorf, 

What fear ye ! See what things you fear — the show 
And surfaces of men. Why stand you wondering there ? 
Why gaze you still with blanched cheeks upon me ? 
Lack you the manhood even to look on, 
And see bold deeds achieved by others' hands ? 
Or is't that cap still holds your thralls to fear ? 
Be free then. — There ! Thus do I trample on 
The insolence of Gesler. (Dashes down the pole.) 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 3& 7 

SELECTION XL 

DRUID ELIDURUS ARVIRAGUS. MasOR 

Druid. Say, thou false one ! 
^Vhat doom befits the slave who sells his country 1 

Elidurus. Death— sudden death ! 

Druid. No ! lingering piecemeal death ; 
\nd to such death thy brother and thyself 
We now devote. Villain, thy deeds are known ; 
% Tis known, ye led the impious Romans hither 
To slaughter us even on our holy altars. 

Elid. That on my soul doth lie some secret grief, 
These looks perforce will tell : it is not fear, 
Druid, it is not fear that shakes me thus ; 
The great gods know it is not : ye can never : 
For, what though wisdom lifts ye next those gods, 
Ye cannot like to them, unlock men's breasts, 
And read their inward thoughts. Ah ! that ye could. 

Arviragus. What hast thou done ? 

Elid. What, prince, I will not tell. 

Druid. Wretch, there are means — 

Elid. I know, and terrible means ; 
And 'tis both fit that you should try those means, 
And I endure them ; yet, I think, my patience 
Will for some space baffle your torturing fury. 

Druid. Be that best known when our inflicted goada 
Harrow thy flesh ! 

Arm. Stranger, ere this be tried, 
Confess the whole of thy black perfidy ; 
So black, that when I look upon thy youth, 
Read thy mild eye, and mark thy modest brow, 
I think, indeed, thou durst not. 

Elid. Such a crime 
Indeed I durst not ; and would rather be 
The very wretch thou seest. I'll speak no more. 

Druid. Brethren, 'tis so. 
This youth has been deceived. 

Elid. Yet, one word more. 
You say, the Romans have invaded Mona. 
Give me a sword, and twenty honest Britons, 
And I will quell those Romans. Vain demand! 
Alas ! you cannot ; ye are men of peace : 
Religion's self forbids. Lead then to torture. 



388 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Arm. Now on my soul this youth doth move me much. 

Druid. Think not religion a,nd our holy office 
Doth teach us tamely, like the bleating lamb, 
To crouch before oppression, and with neck 
Outstretched await the stroke. Mistaken boy ! 
Did not strict justice claim thee for her victim, 
We might full safely send thee to these Romans, 
Inviting their hot charge. Know, when I blow 
That sacred trumpet, bound with sable fillets 
To yonder branching oak, the awful sound 
Calls forth a thousand Britons, trained alike 
In holy and in martial exercise ; 
Not by such mode and rule, as Romans use, 
But of that fierce, portentous, horrible sort, 
As shall appall even Romans. 

Elid. Gracious gods ! 
Then there are hopes indeed. Oh, call them instant! 
This prince will lead them on : I'll follow him, 
Though in my chains, and some way dash them round 
To harm the haughty foe. 

Arm. A thousand Britons, 
And armed ! Oh instant blow the sacred trump, 
And let me head them. Yet methinks this youth — 

Druid. I know what thou wouldst say, might join thee, 
prince. 
True, were he free from crime, or had confessed. 

Elid. Confessed. Ah, think not, I will e'er — 

Arm. Reflect. 
Either thyself or brother must have wronged us : 
Then why conceal — 

Elid. Hast thou a brother 1 no ! 
Else hadst thou spared the word. 
Hear me, Druid : 

Though I would prize an hour of freedom now 
Before an age of any after date : 
Though I would seize it as the gift of heaven, 
\nd use it as heaven's gift : yet do not think, 
I so will purchase it. Give it me freely, 
I yet will spurn the boon, and hug my chains, 
Till you do swear by your own hoary head, 
My brother shall be safe. 

Druid. Excellent youth ! 
Thy words do speak thy soul, and such a soul, 
As wakes our wonder. Thou art free ; thy brother 



DR ASIATIC AND SEKTIMENTAL. 389 

Shall be thine honor's pledge ! so will we use him, 
As thou art false or true. 

Elid. T ask no other. 

Arm. Thus then, my fellow-soldier, to thy clasp 
I give the hand of friendship. Noble youth 
We'll speed, or die together. 



SELECTION XII. 
raimond — procida. — Hemans. 

Raimond. When shall I breathe in freedom, and give scope 
To those untamable and burning thoughts, 
And restless aspirations which consume 
My heart in the land of bondage ?— Oh ! with you, 
Ye everlasting images of power, 
And of infinity ! thou blue-rolling deep, 
And you, ye stars ! whose beams are characters 
Wherewith the oracles of fate are traced ; 
"With you my soul finds room, and casts aside 
The weight that doth oppress her. — But my thoughts 
Are wandering far ; there should be one to share 
This awful and majestic solitude. (Procida enters unobserved) 

Procida. He is here. 

Rai. Now, thou mysterious stranger, thou whose glance 
Doth fix itself on memory, and pursue 
Thought, like a spirit, haunting its lone hours ; 
Reveal thyself; what art thou? 

Proc. One, whose life 
Hath been a troubled stream, and made its way 
Through rocks and darkness, and a thousand storms. 
With still a mighty aim. — But now the shades 
Of eve are gathering round me, and I come 
To this, my native land, that I may rest 
Beneath its vines in peace. 

Rat. Seekest thou for peace 1 
There is no land of peace ; unless that deep 
And voiceless terror, which doth freeze men's thoughts 
Back to their source, and mantle its pale mien 
With a dull hollow semblance of repose, 
May so be called. He were bold 
Who now should wear his thoughts upon his brow 
Beneath Sicilian skies. And this it is 
To wear a foreign yoke. 

33* 



390 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Proc. It matters not 
To him who holds the mastery o'er his spirit, 
And can suppress its workings, till endurance 
Becomes as nature. We can tame ourselves 
To all extremes, and there is that in life 
To which we cling with most tenacious grasp, 
Even when its lofty claims are all reduced 
To the poor common privilege of breathing. — 

Rai. I deemed thee, by the ascendant soul which lived, 
And made its throne on thy commanding brow, 
One of a sovereign nature, which would scorn 
So to abase its high capacities 
For aught on earth. — But thou art like the rest. 
What wouldst thou with me 1 

Proc. I would counsel thee. 
Thou must do that which men — aye valiant men — 
Hourly submit to do. 
Where is he, whose heart 
Lies bare, through all its foldings, to the gaze 
Of mortal eye ? — If vengeance wait the foe, 
Or fate the oppressor, 'tis in depths concealed 
Beneath a smiling surface. — Youth ! I say 
Keep thy soul down ! — Put on a mask ! — 'tis worn 
Alike by power and weakness. 

Rai. Away, dissembler ! 
Life hath its high and its ignoble tasks, 
Fitted to every nature. Will the free 
And royal eagle stoop to learn the arts 
By which the serpent wins his spell-bound prey ? 
[t is because I will not clothe myself 
In a vile garb of coward semblances, 
That now, e'en now, 1 struggle with my heart, 
To bid what most I love a long farewell, 
And seek my country on some distant shore, 
Where such things are unknown ! 

Proc. (Lxultingly.) Why, this is joy ! 
After long conflict with the doubts and fears, 
And the poor subtleties of meaner minds, 
To meet a spirit, whose bold elastic wing 
Oppression hath not crushed. — High-hearted youth 
Thy father, should his footsteps e'er again 
Visit these shores — 

Rai. My father ! what of him ? 
Speak ! was he known to thee ? 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 3T»1 

Proo. In distant lands 
With him I've traversed many a wild, and looked 
On many a danger ; and the thought that thou 
Wert smiling then in peace, a happy boy, 
Oft through the storm hath cheered him. 

Rai. Dost thou deem 
That still he lives ? — Oh ! if it be in chains, 
In woe, in poverty's obscurest cell, 
Say but he lives — and I will track his steps 
E'en to the earth's verge ! 

Proc. It may be that he lives : 
Though long his name hath ceased to be a word 
Familiar in man's dwellings. But its sound 
May yet be heard ! — Raimond di Procida, 
Rememberest thou thy father ? 
Raimond ! doth no voice 

Speak to thy soul, and tell thee whose the arms 
That would infold thee now ? — My son ! my son ! 

Rai. Father ! — Oh God ! — my father ! 



SELECTION XIII. 
hakon — erling. — Anonymous. 

(Hakon enters leading his son Erling by the hand.) 

Erling. 'Tis cold, my father ! 

Hakon. 'Tis yet early morning. Art thou so very chill ! 

Erl. Nay, 'tis no matter. — 
1 shall behold the rising sun — how grand ! 
A sight that I have never known before. 

Hah. Seest thou yon ruddy streaks along the e;*st ? 

Erl. What roses ! how they bloom and spread vn high ! 
Yet father, tell me whence come all these pearls, 
Wherewith the valley here is richly strewn 1 
How brightly they reflect the rosy light ! 

Hah. They are not pearls, it is the morning dew ! 
And that which thou deemest roses, is the sun ! 
Seest thou ? he rises now. Look at him, boy ! 

Erl. Oh ! what a beauteous whirling globe he seems : 
How fiery red ! Dear father, can we never 
Visit the sun in yonder distant land ? 

Hah. My child, our whole life thitherward is tending ; 
That flaming ball of light is Odin's eye — 



892 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

His other is the moon, of milder light, 
That he just now has left in Mimer's well, 
There by the c harmful waves to be refreshed. 

ErL And where is Mimer's well 1 

Hak. The sacred ocean — 
That is old Mimer's deep and potent well. 
That strengthens Odin's eyes. From the cool waves. 
At morning duly comes the sun refreshed, 
The moon again by night. 

ErL But now it hurts me — 
It mounts too high. 

Hak. Upon his golden throne, 
The almighty father mounts, soon to survey 
The whole wide earth. The central diamond 
In his meridian crown, our earthly sight 
May not contemplate. What man darest to meet 
The unveiled aspect of the king of day ? 

ErL ( Terrified.) Hu ! hu ! my father — in the forest yondei^— » 
What are those bearded, frightful men 1 

Hak. Fear not — 
They are the statues of the gods, by men 
Thus hewn in marble. They blind not with sun-gleams. 
Before them we can pray with confidence, 
And look upon them with untroubled firmness. 
Come child — let us go nearer ! 

ErL No, my father ! 
1 am afraid — seest thou that old man there ! 
Him with the beard ? I am afraid of him ! 

Hak. Child, it is Odin — wouldst thou fly from Odin t 

ErL No — no — I fear not the great king in heaven- 
He is so good and beautiful, and calls 
The flowers from earth's bosom, and himself shines 
Like a flower on high ; — but that pale sorcerer — 
He grins like an assassin ! 

Hak. Ha ! 

ErL Father, 
At least let me bring my crown of flowers. 
I left it there on the hedge, when first 
Thou broughtest me hither to see the sun rise. 
Then let us go home ; 
Believe me that old man there means no good ! 

Hak. Go bring thy wreath, and quickly come again, 
A lamb for sacrifice is ever crowned. {Exit Erling.) 
Immortal powers ! 
Behold the faith of Hafcon in this deed. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 393 

(Ee-enter Erling.) 

Erl. Here am I, father, and here's the crown. 

Hak. Yet 
Ere thou goest, my child, kneel down before 
Great Odin. Stretch thy hands both up to heaven, 
And say, " Almighty father ! hear little 
Erling — as thy child receive him to thy 

Paternal bosom." (He kneels, stretching his arms out towards 
the sun, and says with childish innocence and simplicity r , 

Erl. Oh ! Great Odin, hear 
Little Erling! as thy child receive him 
To thy paternal bosom. (Hakon, who stands behind, draws his 

dagger, and intends to stab him, but it drops out of his hand ; 

Erling turns round quietly, takes it up, and says as he rises, 
Here it is — 

Your dagger, father : 'tis so bright and sharp ! 
When I grow taller I will have one too, 
Thee to defend against thy enemies. 

Hak. Ha ! what enchanter with such words assists 
To move thy father's heart ? 

Erl. How's this, my father ? 
You are not angry sure ! What have I done ? 

Hak. Come Erling ! follow me behind that statue ! 

Erl. Behind that frightful man ! Oh ! no. 

Hak. Yet listen ! 
There are red roses blooming there, not white — 
But red and purple roses — 'tis a pleasure 
To see them shooting forth. Come then, my child ! 

Erl. Dear father, stay, — I am so much afraid — 
I do not love red roses. 

Hak. Come, I say. 
Hearest thou not Heimidal's cock ! He crows and crows. 
Now it is time. 



SELECTION XIV. 

ESSEX SOUTHAMPTON LIEUTENANT OF THE TOWER- 
RALEIGH. — Jones 

Essex. Oh name it not ! my friend shall live, he shall • 
I know her royal mercy, and her goodness 
Will give you back to life, to length of days, 
And me to honor, loyalty, and truth. 
Death is still distant far. 

Southampton. In life's first spring 



394 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Our green affections grew apace and prospered ; 
The genial summer swelled our joyful hearts, 
To meet and mix each growing fruitful wish. 
We're now embarked upon that stormy flood 
Where all the wise and brave are gone before us, 
Ever since the birth of time, to meet eternity. 
And what is death did we consider right ? 
Shall we astonished shrink, like frighted infants, 
And start at scaffolds and their gloomy trappings ? 

Essex. Still I trust long years remain of friendship 
Let smiling hope drive doubt and fear away, 
And death be banished far, where creeping age, 
Disease and care, invite him to their dwelling. 
I feel assurance rise within my breast, 
That all will yet be well. 

South. Count not on hope — 
We never can take leave, my friend, of life, 
On nobler terms. Life ! what is life ? A shadow ! 
Its date is but the immediate breath we draw ; 
Nor have we surety for a second gale ; 
Ten thousand accidents in ambush lie 
For the embodied dream. 
A frail and fickle tenement it is, 
Which like the brittle glass that measures time, 
Is often broke, ere half its sands are run. 

Essex. Such cold philosophy the heart disdains, 
And friendship shudders at the moral tale. 
My friend, the fearful precipice is past, 
And danger dare not meet us more. Fly swift 
Ye better angels, waft the welcome tidings 
Of pardon to my friend , of life and joy. (Enter Lieutenant,) 

Lieutenant. I grieve to be the messenger of woe, 
But must, my lords, entreat you to prepare 
For instant death. Here is the royal mandate 
That orders your immediate execution. 

Essex. Immediate execution ! — what, so sudden ! 
No message from the queen, or Nottingham 1 

Lieut. None, sir. 

Essex. Deluded hopes ! Oh, worse than death! 
Perfidious queen, to make a mock of life ! 
My friend, my friend destroyed! Oh piercing thought! 
Oh dismal chance — in my destruction ruined ! 
In my sad fall undone ! Why could not mine, 
My life atone for both, my blood appease ? 
Can you, my friend, forgive me ? 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 895 

South. Yes, Oh yes, 
My bosom's better half, I can. With thee 
I'll gladly seek the coast unknown, and leave 
The lessening mark of irksome life behind. 
With thee, my friend, 'tis joy to die ! 'tis glory ; 
For who would wait the tardy stroke of time, 
Or cling, like reptiles, to the verge of being, 
When we can bravely leap from life at once, 
And spring triumphant in a friend's embrace ! (Enter Raleigh.) 

Raleigh. To you, my lord Southampton, from the queen 
A pardon comes : your life her mercy spares. (Exit.) 

Essex. For ever blessed be that indulgent power 
Which saves my friend. This weight taken off, my soul 
Shall upward spring and mingle with the blessed. 

South. All-ruling heavens, can this, can this be just ? 
Support me ; hold, ye straining heart-strings, hold 
And keep my sinking frame from dissolution. 
Oh 'tis too much for mortal strength to bear, 
Or thought to suffer ! No, I'll die w r ith thee. 
They shall not part us, Essex. 

Essex. Live, Oh live, 
Thou noblest, bravest, best of men and friends, 
Whilst life is worth thy w T ish, till time and thou 
Agree to part, and nature send thee to me ; 
Thou generous soul, farewell ; — live and be happy ; 
And oh ! may life make largely up to thee 
Whatever blessings fate has thus cut off 
From thy departing friend. 

Lieut. My lord, my warrant 
Strictly forbids to grant a moment's time. 

South. Oh, must we part for ever ? — Cruel fortune ! 
Wilt thou then tear him hence ? — Severe divorce ! 
Let me cling round thy sacred person still, 
Still clasp thee to my bosom close, and keep 
Stern fate at distance. 

Essex. Oh, my friend, we'll meet 
Again where virtue finds a just reward, 
Where factious malice never more can reach us. 
Recall thy reason, be thyself once more. — 
I fear it not : — This hideous monster, death, 
When seen at distance, shocks sweet nature's eye ; 
But reason, as it draws more near, defies it — 
I thank thy sorrows, but could spare them now. 
I need not bid thee guard my fame from wrongs ; 
And oh ! a dearer treasure to thy care 



396 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

I trust, than either life or fame — my wife. 

Her bitter sorrows pierce my soul ; for her 

My heart drops blood! — Oh, she will want a friend. 

Then take her to thy care ; do thou pour balm 

On her deep-wounded spirit, and let her find 

My tender helps in thee. — I must be gone, 

My ever faithful, and my gallant friend. — 

I pray thee leave this woman's work — farewell — 

Take this last dear embrace. — Farewell for ever ! 

South. My bursting breast ! I fain would speak, but words 
Are poor — Farewell ! — - 
But we shall meet again, embrace in one 
Eternal band which never shall be loosed. 



SELECTION XV. 

CAIUS GRACCHUS DRUSUS. KflOwleS. 

Drusus. Your, pleasure, Caius ? 

C. Gracchus. Pleasure ! — Livius Drusus, 
Look not so sweet upon me ! — I am no child 
Not to know bitter, for that it is smeared 
With honey ! Let me rather see thee scowl 
A little ; and when thou dost speak, remind me 
Of the rough trumpet more than the soft lute. 
By Jove, I can applaud the honest caitiff 
Bespeaks his craft ! 

Drusus. The caitiff! 

C. Grace. Ah! ho! Now 
You are Livius Drusus ! You were only then 
The man men took him for — the easy man, 
That, so the world went right, cared not who got 
The praise. Who ever thought, in such 
A plain and homely piece of stuff, to see 
The mighty senate's tool ! 

Drusus. The senate's tool ! 

C. Grace. Now what a deal of pains for little profit ! 
If you could play the juggler with me, Livius — 
To such perfection practice seeming, as 
To pass it on me for reality — 
Make my own senses witness against myself, 
That things I know impossible to be, 
I see as palpable as if they were — 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 397 

Twas worth the acting ; but, when I am master 

Of all your mystery, and know, as well 

As you do, that the prodigy's a lie, 

What wanton waste of labor ! — Linus Drusus, 

[ know you are a tool ! 

Drusus. Well, let me be so ! 
I will not quarrel with you, worthy Caius ! 
Call me whate'er you please. 

C. Grace. What barefaced shifting ! 
What real fierceness could grow tame so soon ! 
You turn upon me like a tiger, and 
When open-mouthed I brave you, straight you play 
The crouching spaniel ! You'll not quarrel with me ! 
I want you not to quarrel, Livius Drusus, 
But only to be honest to the people. 

Drusus. Honest ! 

C. Grace. Ay, honest ! — Why do you repeat 
My words, as if you feared to trust your own ! 
Do I play echo ? Question me, and see 
If I so fear to be myself. I act 
The wall, which speaks not but with others' tongues. 
I say you are not honest to the people. — 
I say you are the senate's tool — their bait — 
Their juggler — their trick-merchant. — If I wrong you, 
Burst out at once in full retort upon me — 
Tell me I lie, and smite me to the earth ! — 
I'll rise but to embrace you ! 

Drusus. My good Caius, 
Restrain your ardent temper ; it doth hurry you 
Into madness. 

C Grace. Give me but an answer, and 
I'll be content. — Are you not leagued with the senate T 

Drusus. Your senses leave you, Caius ! 

C. Grace. Will you answer me ? 

Drusus. Throw off this humor ! 

C. Grace. Give me an answer, Drusus ! 

Drusus. Madman ! 

C. Grace. Are you the creature of the senate ? 

Drusus. Good Caius ! 

C. Grace. Do you juggle with the people ? 
Let me but know you, man, from your own lips: 
Tis all I want to know you are a traitor. 

Drusus. A traitor ! 

C. Grace, Ay! 

Drusus. To whom ? 

34 



398 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

C. Grace. To the poor people ! 
The houseless citizens that sleep at nights 
Before the portals, and that starve by day 
Under the noses of the senators ! 
Thou art their magistrate, their friend, their father. 
Dost thou betray them \ Hast thou sold them 1 Wilt thou 
higgle them out of the few friends they have left ? 

Drusus. If 'twill content you, Caius, I am one 
Who loves alike the senate and the people. 
[ am the friend of both. 

C. Grace. The friend of neither — 
The senate's tool ! — a traitor to the people ! — 
A man that seems to side with neither party ; 
Will now bend this way, and then make it up, 
By leaning a little to the other side ; 
With one eye, glance his pity on the crowd, 
And with the other, crouch to the nobility; 
Such men are the best instruments of tyranny. 
The simple slave is easily avoided 
By his external badge ; your order wears 
The infamy within ! 

Drusus. I'll leave you, Caius, 
And hope your breast will harbor better counsels. 
Grudge you the senate's kindness to the people ? 
'Tis well — whoe'er serves them shows love to me ! (Exit.) 

C. Grace. Go ! I have tilled a waste ; and, with my sweat 
Brought hope of fruitage forth — the superficial 
And heartless soil cannot sustain the shoot : 
The first harsh wind that sweeps it, leaves it bare ! 
Fool that I was to till it ! Let them go ! 
I loved them and I served them ! — Let them go ! 



SELECTION XVI. 

RIENZI COLONNA TJRSINI FRANGIPANI CAFARELLO AN- 

GELO SAVELLI THE NUNCIO EMBASSADOR NOBLES. 

Mitford. 

Rienzi. Why, this 
Is well, my lords, this full assemblage. Now 
The chief of Rome stands fitly girt with names 
Strong as their towers around him. Fall not off, 
A.nd we shall be impregnable. (Advancing up the room.) 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 399 

Lord Nuncio, 

[ should have asked thy blessing. I have sent 

Our missions to the pontiff. Count Savelli — 

My lord embassador. I crave your pardon. 

What news from Venice, the sea-queen ? Savelli, 

I have a little maiden who must know 

Thy fairest daughter. Angelo, Colonna, 

A double welcome ! Rome lacked half her state 

Wanting her princely columns. 

Colonna. Sir, I come 
A suitor to thee. Martin Ursini — 

Rie. When last his name was on thy lips — 
Well, sir, 

Thy suit, thy suit ! If pardon take at once 
My answer — No. 

Angelo. Yet, mercy — 

Rie. Angelo, 
Waste not thy pleadings on a desperate cause 
And a resolved spirit. She awaits thee. 
Haste to that fairer court. (Exit Angdo.) 

My lord Colonna, 
This is a needful justice. 

Col Noble Tribune, 
It is a crime which custom — 

Rie. Ay, the law 
Of the strong against the weak — your law, the law 
Of the sword and spear. But, gentles, ye lie now 
Under the good estate. (Crossing to the centre.) 

Savelli. He is a noble. 

Rie. Therefore, 
A thousand times he dies. Ye are noble, sirs, 
And need a warning. 

Col. Sick, almost to death. 

Rie. Ye have less cause to grieve. 

Frangipani. New wedded. 

Rie. Ay, 
Madonna Laura is a blooming dame, 
And will become her weeds. 

Cafarello. Remember Tribune, 
He hath two uncles, cardinals. Wouldst outrage 
The sacred college ? 

Rie. . The lord cardinals, 
Meek, pious, lowly men, and loving virtue, 
Will render thanks to him who wipes a blot 
So flagrant from their name. 



400 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Col. An Ursini ! 
Head of the Ursini ! 

Ursini. Mine only brother ! 

Rie. And darest talk thou to me of brothers ? Thou, 
Whose groom — wouldst have me break my own just laws, 
To save thy brother ? thine ! Hast thou forgotten 
When that most beautiful and blameless boy, 
The prettiest piece of innocence that ever 
Breathed in this sinful world, lay at thy feet, 
Slain by thy pampered minion, and I knelt 
Before thee for redress, whilst thou — didst never 
Hear talk of retribution ! This is justice, 
Pure justice, not revenge ! Mark well, my lords — 
Pure equal justice. Martin Ursini 
Had open trial, is guilty, is condemned — 
And he shall die ! 

Col. Yet listen to us ! 

Rie. Lords, 
If ye could range before me all the peers, 
Prelates and potentates of Christendom — 
The holy pontiff kneeling at my knee, 
And emperors crouching at my feet, to sue 
For this great robber, still I should be blind, 
As justice. But this very day a wife, 
One infant hanging at her breast, and two 
Scarce bigger, first-born twins of misery, 
Clinging to the poor rags that scarcely hid 
Her squalid form, grasped at my bridle-rein, 
To beg her husband's life ; condemned to die 
For some vile petty theft, some paltry scudi — 
And, whilst the fiery war-horse chafed and reared, 
Shaking his crest, and plunging to get free, 
There, 'midst the dangerous coil unmoved, she stood, 
Pleading in broken words and piercing shrieks, 
And hoarse low shivering sobs, the very cry 
Of nature ! And when I at last said no — 
For I said no to her — she flung herself 
And those poor innocent babes between the stones 
And my hot Arab's hoofs. We saved them all — 
Thank heaven, we saved them all ! but I said no 
To that sad woman, 'midst her shrieks. Ye dare not 
Ask me for mercy now. 

Sav. Yet he is noble ! 
Let him not die a felon's death, 

Rie. Again, 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 401 

Ye weary me. No more of this. Colonna, 

Thy son loves my fair daughter. 'Tis an union, 

However my young Claudia might have graced 

A monarch's side, that augurs hopefully — 

Bliss to the wedded pair, and peace to Rome, 

And it shall be accomplished. 

And now 

A fair good-morrow. (Exit all but SavelH, Colonna, and Uisint.) 

Sav. Hath stern destiny 
Clothed him in this man's shape, that in a breath 
He deals out death and marriage ? Ursini ! 
Colonna ! be ye stunned ? 

Col I'll follow him ! 
Tyrant ! usurper ! base-born churl ! to deem 
That son of mine — 

Urs. Submit, as I have done, 
For vengeance. From our grief and shame shall spring 
A second retribution. 
The fatal moment 

Of our disgrace is nigh. Ere evening close, 
I'll seek thee at thy palace. Seem to yield, 
And victory is sure. 

Col. I'll take thy counsel. 



SELECTION XVII. 
vanoc — valens. — Anonymous. 

Vanoc. Now Tribune : — 

Valens. Health to Vanoc. 

Van. Speak your business. 

Val. I come not as a herald, but a friend; 
And I rejoice that Didius chose out me 
To greet a prince in my esteem the foremost. 

Van. So much for words — now to your purpose, Tribime. 

Val. Sent by our new lieutenant, who in Rome, 
And since from me has heard of your renown, 
I come to offer peace : to reconcile 
Past enmities ; to strike perpetual league 
With Vanoc ; whom our emperor invites 
To terms of friendship ; strictest bonds of union. 

Van. We must not hold a friendship with the Roman. 

Val. Why must you not ? 

Van Virtue forbids it. 

34* 



402 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Vol. Once 
You thought our friendship was your greatest glory. 

Van. I thought you honest — I have been deceived — 
Would you deceive me twice ? No, Tribune ; no. 
You sought for war — maintain it as you may. 

Vol. Believe me, prince, your vehemence of spirit, 
Prone ever to extremes, betrays your judgment. 
Would you once coolly reason on our conduct — 

Van. Oh, I have scanned it thoroughly — night and day 
I think it over, and I think it base : 
Most infamous ! let who will judge — but Romans. 
Did not my wife, did not my menial servant, 
Both conspire 

Against my crown, against my fame, my life ? 
Did they not levy war and wage rebellion ? 
And when I did assert my right and power 
As king and husband, when I would chastise 
Two most abandoned wretches — who but Romans 
Opposed my justice and maintained their crimes ? 

Vol. At first the Romans did not interpose, 
But grieved to see their best allies at variance. 
Indeed, when you turned justice into rigor, 
And even that rigor was pursued with fury, 
We undertook to mediate for the queen, 
And hoped to moderate — 

Van. To moderate ! 
What would you moderate — my indignation ? 
The just resentment of a virtuous mind 1 
To mediate for the queen ! — You undertook !— 
Wherein concerned it you ? — But as you love 
To exercise your insolence ! Are you 
To arbitrate my wrongs ? — Must I ask leave ? 
Must I be taught, to govern my own household ? 
Am I then void of reason and of justice ? 
When in my family offences rise, 
Shall strangers, saucy intermeddlers, say, 
Thus far, and thus you are allowed to punish ? 
When I submit to such indignities ; 
When I am tamed to that degree of slavery — 
Make me a citizen, a senator of Rome. 
To watch, to live upon the smile of Claudius ; 
And sell my country with my wife for bread. 

Val. Prince, you insult upon this day's success. 
You may provoke too far — but I am cool — 
1 give your answer scope, 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 403 

Van. Who shall confine it ? 
The Romans ? — let them rule their slaves ; I blush, 
That dazzled in my youth by ostentation, 
The trappings of the men seduced my virtue ! 

Val. Blush rather that you are a slave to passion ; 
Subservient to the wildness of your will ; 
Which, like a whirlwind, tears up all your virtues, 
And gives you not the leisure to consider. 
Did not the Romans civilize you ? 

Van. No. They brought new customs and new vices over, 
Taught us more arts than honest men require, 
And gave us wants that nature never knew. 

Val. We found you naked. 

Van. And you found us free. 

Val. Would you be temperate once, and hear me out. 

Van. Speak things that honest men may hear with temper, 
Speak the plain truth and varnish not your crimes. 
Say that you once were virtuous — long ago 
A frugal hardy people, like the Britons, 
Before you grew thus elegant in vice, 
And gave your luxuries the name of virtues. 
The civilizers ! — the disturbers, say ; 
The robbers, the corruptors of mankind ; 
Proud vagabonds ! — who make the world your home, 
And lord it where you have no right : 
What virtue have you taught 1 

Val. Humanity. 

Van. Oh, patience ! 

Val. Can you disown a truth confessed by all ? 
A praise, a glory known in barbarous climes ? 
Far as our legions march they carry knowledge, 
The arts, the laws, the discipline of life. 
Our conquests are indulgencies, and we 
Not masters, but protectors of mankind. 

Van. Prevaricating, false — most courteous tyrants ; — 
Romans ! rare patterns of humanity ! 
Come you then here, thus far through waves to conquer, 
To waste, to plunder, out of mere compassion 1 
Is it humanity that prompts you on 
To ravage the whole earth, to burn, destroy ? 
To raise the cry of widows and of orphans ? 
To lead in bonds the generous free-born princes, 
Who spurn, who fight against your tyranny ? 
Happy for us, and happy for you spoilers, 
Had your humanity ne'er reached our world — 



404 UNITED STATES SPEAKER, 

It is a virtue — (so it seems you called it,) 
A. Roman virtue that cost you dear : 
And dearer shall it cost if Vanoc lives, 
Or if we die we shall leave those behind us 
Who know the worth of British liberty. 

Vol. I mean not to reproach your ancestors ; 
Untaught, uncultivated as they were ; 
Inhospitable, fiery, and ferocious ; 
Lions in spirit, cruel beyond men ; 
Your altars reeking oft with human blood. 

Van. Hence, insulter ; nor tempt me into rage ; 
This roof protects thy rashness ; but begone. 
I cannot answer for my indignation. 



SELECTION XVIII. 

GUSTAVUS VASA SIVARD ARNOLDUS DALECARLIANS. 

Brooke, 

( Gustavus disguised as a peasant.) 
Gustavus. Ye men of Sweden, wherefore are ye come ? 
See ye not yonder, how the locusts swarm, 
To drink the fountains of your honor up, 
And leave your hills a desert ! — Wretched men ! 
Why came ye forth ? Is this a time for sport ? 
Or are ye met with song and jovial feast, 
To welcome your new guests, your Danish visitants ? 
To stretch your supple necks beneath their feet, 
And fawning lick the dust ? — Go, go my countrymen, 
Each to your several mansions, trim them out, 
Cull all the tedious earnings of your toil, 
To purchase bondage. — Oh, Swedes ! Swedes ! 
Heavens ! are ye men, and will ye suffer this ? 
There was a time, my friends, a glorious time ! 
When had a single man of your forefathers 
Upon the frontiers met a host in arms, 
His courage scarce had turned ; himself had stood, 
Alone had stood, the bulwark of his country. 
Come, come on then. Here I take my stand ! 
Here on the brink, the very verge of liberty ; 
Although contention rise upon the clouds, 
Mix heaven with earth, and roll the ruin onward, 
Here will I fix, and breast me to the shock, 
Till I or Denmark fall. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 405 

Sivard. And who art thou, 
That thus would swallow all the glory up 
That should redeem the times 1 Behold this breast, 
The sword has tilled it ; and the stripes of slaves 
Shall ne'er trace honor here ; shall never blot 
The fair inscription. — Never shall the cords 
Of Danish insolence bind down these arms, 
That bore my royal master from the field. 

Gust. Ha ! Say you, brother 1 Were you there — Oh 
grief ! 
Where liberty and Stenon fell together ? 

Siv. Yes, I was there. — A bloody field it was, 
Where conquest gasped, and wanted breath to tell 
Its o'er-toiled triumph. There our bleeding king, 
There Stenon on this bosom made his bed, 
And, rolling, back his dying eyes upon me, 
Soldier, he cried, if e'er it be thy lot 
To see my gallant cousin, great Gustavus, 
Tell him — for once, that I have fought like him, 
And would like him have — 
Conquered. 

Gust. Oh, Danes ! Danes ! 
You shall weep blood for this. Shall they not, brothel ? 
Yes, we will deal our might with thrifty vengeance, 
A life for every blow, and, when we fall, 
There shall be weight in't ; like the tottering towers, 
That draw contiguous ruin. 

Siv. Brave, brave man ! 
My soul admires thee. By my father's spirit, 
I would not barter such a death as this 
For immortality ! Nor we alone — 
Here be the trusty gleanings of that field, 
Where last we fought for freedom ; here's rich poverty, 
Though wrapped in rags — my fifty brave companions ; 
Who through the force of fifteen thousand foes 
Bore off their king, and saved his great remains. 

Gust. Why, captain, 
We could but die alone, with these we'll conquer. 
My fellow-laborers too — What say ye, friends ? 
Shall we not strike for it ? 

Siv. Death ! Victory or death ! 

All. No bonds ! no bonds ! 

Arnoldus. Spoke like yourselves. — Ye men of Dalecarlia, 
Brave men and bold ! whom every future age 
Shall mark for wondrous deeds, achievements won 



406 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

From honor's dangerous summit, warriors all ! 

Say, might ye choose a chief 

Speak, name the man, 

Who then should meet your wish 1 

Siv. Forbear the theme. 
Why wouldst thou seek to sink us with the weight 
Of grievous recollection ! Oh, Gustavus ! 
Could the dead awake, thou wert the man. 

Gust, Didst thou know Gustavus ? 

Siv. Know him ! Oh, heaven ! what else, who else was 
worth 
The knowledge of a soldier ? That great day, 
When Chris tiern, in his third attempt on Sweden, 
Had summed his powers, and weighed the scale of fight, 
On the bold brink, the very push of conquest, 
Gustavus rushed, and bore the battle down ; 
In his full sway of prowess, like leviathan 
That scoops his foaming progress on the main 
And drives the shoals along — forward I sprung, 
All emulous, and laboring to attend him ; 
Fear fled before, behind him rout grew loud, 
And distant wonder gazed. At length he turned, 
And having e ed me with a wondrous look 
Of sweetness mixed with glory — grace inestimable ! 
He plucked this bracelet from his conquering arm, 
And bound it here. My wrist seemed trebly nerved ; 
My heart spoke to him, and I did such deeds 
As best might thank him. But from that blessed day 
I never saw him more — yet still to this, 
I bow, as to the, relics of my saint : 
Each morn I drop a tear on every bead, 
Count all the glories of Gustavus o'er, 
And think I still behold him. 

Gust. Rightly thought, 
For so thou dost, my soldier, 
Behold your general, 

Gustavus ! Come once more to lead you on 
To laureled victory, to fame, to freedom ! 

Siv. Strike me, ye powers ! It is illusion all ! 
It cannot — It is, it is ! (Falls and embraces his knees.) 

Gust. Oh, speechless eloquence ! 
Rise to my arms, my friend. 

Siv. Friend ! say you, friend ? 
Oh, my heart's lord ! my conqueror f my 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 407 

Gust. Approach, my fellow-soldiers, your Gustavus 
Claims no precedence here. 
Haste brave men ! 

Collect your friends, to join us on the instant ; 
Summon our brethren to their share of conquest, 
And let loud echo, from her circling hills, 
Sound freedom, till the undulation shake 
The bounds of utmost Sweden. 



SELECTION XIX. 

DTJRAZZO GARCIA PEREZ. Haynes. 

Durazzo. Now Perez, give your happy master joy, 
And change the title of your reverence 
To suit his new condition. I am come, 
Ennobled by the king, to mate with greatness. 

Perez. Thank heaven, I live to call you lord ; therefore, 
My lord, I give you joy. 

Dur. Proclaim it far, 
That those who mocked my humble state may gnaw 
Their lips with envy. 'Tis not that I prize 
The empty title for its empty sake ; 
} Tis but a phrase ; yet, as the world is caught 
With syllables, the phrase hath value i'nt, 
And I would give it swelling currency 
Throughout the realm. 

Per. It shall not lack my voice. 

Dur. I met a noble as I came, who thought 
To look me out of favor with myself, 
As he was wont to do. My soul was nigh 
To burst its mortal bound as I rebuked him. 

Per. But yonder look, where comes 
Don Garcia through the vestibule. 

Dur. Depart. {Exit Perez.) 
And let us be alone. What ! would he break 
On my retirement rudely thus uncalled — 
No leave obtained — no question asked ; but in, 
As if I kept a tavern for his highness ? 
{Enter Garcia.) 

Garcia. Durazzo ! 

Dur. Garcia ! 

Gar. How, my lord ? 



408 UNITED STATES SPEAKES. 

Dur. My lord 
Again, or Garcia, as you choose to speak, 
Addressing me. 

Gar. 'Tis bold, sir, — nay, methinks 
You look but slightingly upon your patron. 

Dur. My patron ! 

Gar. I was so this morning. 

Dur. True — 
But see, 'tis mid-day now. Thinkest thou yon orb, 
Who, on his glorious round, keeps half our earth 
For ever in his beam, beholds no changes 
In this diurnal planet, but the lapse 
Of growing hours and seasons ? — think again ; 
Trust me, there are more strange vicissitudes 
Than one man standing by another's side, 
Who never was above him, but in fortune. 

Gar. I would keep down this swelling of my heait 
To reason calmly with your haughtiness. 

Dur. My haughtiness ! 

Gar. Ay, haughtiness ; what else 
Could breed this lofty tone ? Those trappings, too, 
But ill become the state of yesterday. 

Dur. By your favor, sir, 
'Tis sometimes prudent to adorn our limbs, 
That fools, who look no deeper, thence may see 
We mean to be respected. 

Gar. But to change, 
As you have done, in dress, in manner, word, 
And action, from the lowly thing you have been, 
So suddenly, as if the flash of fortune 
Had set your soul and body in a flame, 
Is matter more for mirth than deference. 

Dur. Indeed ! 

Gar. The world will laugh. 

Dur. Advise the world 
It laugh not out too loud. 

Gar. You would not make 
So huge a sacrifice as all mankind 
To your voracious anger. 

Dur. I might chance 
To know some voices in the jubilee, 
And make amusement danger to the sharers. 
Erewhile my pride was like an idle blade 
That rusted in the scabbard ; now 'tis drawn, 
And flourished o'er your heads — bewaro of it 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 41H 

Gar. Have you not crawled your way to this ? 

Dur. 'Twas fate 
Ordained it so ; but I have broke her spells, 
And here stand up for my prerogative, 
Enlarged, and free to act. What I have done 
And suffered w r as necessity : what more 
I do, shall be from choice, and speak the mind 
Within me noble. — 

So, having won my place, I will assume 
Its usage, honors, titles, and respects, 
And in the teeth of scorn be dignified. 

Gar. Yet hear me patiently. — Your tale this morning 
Hath wrought a purpose useful to the state. 
Provoke not inquisition, by the spurns 
You cast on others, lest yourself be found 
No purer than you should, and what you've done 
Be, by your rashness, undone. 

Dur. Have you aught 
To urge besides ? 

Gar. But to apply the rule. 
Let no vindictive spirit against B endue ar 
Betray your passion to an act of rash 
Revenge. — Bethink you, I have passed my word 
That in due time he shall submit to you : 
Bethink,— and pause. 

Dur. Oh ! as the insult fell 
On me, I know how calmly you can bear it ; 
Nor have I yet forgot, how light you made 
This morning of the blow ; as if it were 
A gnat that stung my flesh. — The hand which strikes 
Down from the clouds, may execute unquestioned 
The purposes of its omnipotence : — 
But that whose force a mortal shoulder wields,* 
Strikes at its peril, and is answerable 
To God and man. 

Gar. I came not here to listen to this rudeness. 

Dur. Nay, I've some notion of the cause that brougl ■ you 
Was it to try the terror of your frown 1 

Gar. Did I not raise you — make you what you are % 

Dur With the king's help. 

Gar. You sneer, but it was so. 

Dur. Went your intention with it, when you knew not 
My object, nor my claim? 

Gar. No matter now ; 
Tis now enough to wonder at vour fortunes. 

35 



410 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Dur. You see in what a changeful world we live : 
The beggar of to-day is rich to-morrow ; 
The rich man poor — despised. 

Gar. I'll hear no more. 

Dur. Go home, and ponder on't. 



SELECTION XX. 

penruddock — henry. — Cumberland. 

Penruddock. Here then was the residence of my once loved 
Arabella ; here then she reigned and reveled ; a sympathetic 
gloom comes over me. Woodville is in my power. 
(Enter Henry.) 

Henry. Where am I ! What has happened ? Why is this 
house so changed in its appearance ? 

Pen. Whom do you seek ? 

Henry. A father and a mother who dwelt here. If you have 
heard the name of Woodville and can ease my anxious mind, 
tell me they survive. 

Pen. Be satisfied — they live. 

Henry. Devoutly I return heaven thanks, and bless you for 
the tidings. Long absent and debarred all correspondence 
with my family, I came with trembling heart, uncertain of their 
fate, and I confess the ominous appearance of a deserted house 
Btruck me with alarm ; but I may hope they have some other 
residence at hand. If you know where, direct me. 

Pen. If I knew where, I would ; but — 

Henry. But what ? Why do you pause ? 

Pen. Because I can't proceed. 

Henry. Why not proceed ? You know they live, can you 
ic t tell me where ? 

Pen. I cannot. 

Henry. What is your business here ? 

Pen. None. 

Henry. Do you not live in London ? 

Pen. No. 

Henry. What is your name, occupation ? Where do you 
inhabit? How comes it to pass that you know so well to 
answer me one question, and are dumb to all the rest 1 

Pen. I am not used to interrogatories, nor quite so patient 
as may suit with your impetuosity. 

Henry. I stand corrected ; I am too quick. — You will ex* 
cuse the feelings of a son. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 411 

Pen. Most willingly ; only I'm sorry to perceive they are 
so sensitive, because this world abounds in misery. 

Henry, Now I am sure you know more than you yet reveal ; 
but having said my parents are still alive, you fortify me against 
(esser evils. I know my father's failings, and can well suppose 
that his affairs have fallen into decay. 

Pen. To utter ruin. Gaming has undone him. 

Henry. Oh ! execrable vice, fiend of the human soul, that 
tears the heart of parent, child, and friend ! What crimes, 
what shame, what complicated misery hast thou brought upon 
us ! Rash, desperate, wretched man ! This house was swal- 
lowed in the general wreck ? 

Pen. With every thing else : Sir George Penruddock had 
it for a debt, as it is called, of honor. 

Henry, A debt of infamy — and may the curse entailed upon 
such debts descend on him and all that may inherit from him i 

Pen. There you outrun discretion: he is dead, and you 
would not extend your curse to him that now inherits. 

Henry. Light where it will, I'll not revoke it. He that is 
fortune's minion, well deserves it. 

Pen. But he that's innocent does not. 

Henry. Can he be innocent, who stains his hands with ore 
drenched in the gamester's blood, dug from the widow's, and 
the orphan's hearts, with tears, and cries, and agonies unutter- 
able ? 'Tis property accurst ; were it a mine as deep as to 
the centre, I would not touch an atom to preserve myself from 
starving. 

Pen. You speak too strongly, sir. 

Henry. So you may think : I speak as I feel. Who is the 
wretched heir ? 

Pen. Roderick Penruddock. 

Henry. What ! Roderick the recluse ? 

Pen. The same. 

Henry. My father knew him well— a gloomy misanthrope, 
shunning and shunned by all mankind. When such a being, 
after long seclusion, lost to all social charities, and hardened 
into savage insensibility, comes forth into the world, armed 
with power and property, he issues like a hungry lion from his 
den, to ravage and devour. 

Pen. Stop your invective ! Know him before you condemn 
him. — He stands before you. 

Henry. Indeed ! and I am then in company with Mr. Pen- 
ruddock ? 

Pen. You are. 



412 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Henry. Then I must throw myself upon your mercy ; I have 
spoken rashly, and abide by any measures you may choose to 
dictate. 

Pen. You can hardly expect much candor in a character 
such as you have painted — savage, insensible, lost to all social 
charities, a gloomy misanthrope. 

Henry. I have spoken, as men are apt to speak, upon re- 
port. If you mean only to retort the words on me as their re- 
tailer, you still leave the original authority in force ; but if you 
can refute that, you at once vindicate your own character from 
aspersion, and bring me to shame for my credulity and levity. 

Pen. You have quoted your own father as the authority on 
which you rest : very well — of him, then, in the first place, I 
will speak ; of myself in the last. (Puts chairs.) Sit down. 
( They sit.) Your father and myself were intimates through alJ 
that happy age, when nature wears no mask ; our boyish sports, 
our college studies, our traveling excursions, united us in friend- 
ship. — This may be tedious talk ; and yet I study to be brief 
for my own sake as well as yours. 

Henry. I'm all attention — pray proceed. 

Pen. On our return from travel, it was my fortune to gain 
the affections of a lady — whom, at this distant period, I cannot 
name without emotions which unman and shake my foolish 
heart — therefore, no more of her. Your father was our mutual 
confident, passed and repassed between us on affairs of trust 
and secrecy, while I was busied in providing for our marriage 
settlement : I struggled against difficulties that tortured my im- 
patience, and at length overcame them. In that interval a vil- 
lain had traduced my character, poisoned her credulous mind, 
and by the display of a superior fortune, prevailed upon her 
parents to revoke their promises to me, and marry her to him. 
• — What did this wretch deserve ? 

Henry. Death from your hands, and infamy from all the 
world. 

Pen. And yet upon his credit you arraign my character : — 
for that wretch (Rises) is your own father. 

Henry. I am dumb with horror. 

Pen. Now can you wonder, if, when armed with power to 
extinguish this despoiler of my peace, this still inveterate de- 
famer of my character, I issue, as your own words describe me, 
like a hungry lion from his den, to ravage and devour ? 

Henry. I'll answer that hereafter ; and, by the honor of a 
soldier, I will answer it as truth and justice shall exact of me. 
But a charge so strong, so serious, so heart-rending to a son, 
irho feels himself referred to in a case so touching, demands 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 413 

a strict discussion : I shall immediately seek my father, whom 
I have not yet seen. 

Pen. If I accuse him falsely, it is not restitution of the debt 
he owes me, nor all that I possess besides, — no, nor my life 
itself, that can atone for the calumny. 



SELECTION XXL 

CATILINE AURELIUS. Croly. 

Aurelius. What answer's for this pile of bills, my lord ? 

Catiline. Who can have sent them here ? 

Aur. Your creditors ! 
As if some demon woke them all at once, 
These having been crowding on me since the morn. 
Here, Caius Curtius claims the prompt discharge 
Of his half million sesterces ; besides 
The interest on your bond, ten thousand more. 
Six thousand for your Tynan canopy ; 
Here, for your Persian horses — your trireme : 
Here, debt on debt. Will you discharge them now ? 

Cat. I'll think of it. 

Aur. It must be now ; this day ! 
Or, by to-morrow, we shall have no home. 

Cat. 'Twill soon be all the same 

Aur. We are undone ! 

Cat. Aurelius ! 
All will be well ; but hear me — stay — a little : 
I had intended to consult with you — 
On — our departure— from — the city. 

Aur. (Indignantly and surprised.) Rome ! 

Cat. Even so, Aurelius ! even so ; we must leave Rome, 

Aur. Let me look on you ; are you Catiline ? 

Cat. I know not what I am, — we must be gone ! 

Aur. Madness ! let them take all ? 

Cat. The gods will have it so ! 

Aur. Seize on your house ? 

Cat. Seize my last sesterce ! Let them have their wilL 
\\'e must endure. Ay, ransack — ruin all ; 
Tear up my father's grave, tear out my heart. 
The world is wide — Can we not dig or beg ? 
Can we not find on earth a den, and tomb ! 

Aur. Before I stir, they shall hew off my hands, 
35 # 



414 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Cat, What's to be done ! 

Aur. Now hear me, Catiline : 
This day 'tis three years since there was not in Rome, 
Aji eye, however haughty, but would sink 
When I turned on it : when I passed the streets 
My chariot- wheel was hung on by a host 
Of your chief senators ; as if their gaze 
Beheld an emperor on its golden round ; 
An earthly providence ! 

Cat, 'Twas so ! 'twas so ! 
But it is vanished — gone. 

Aur, That day shall come again ; or, in its place, 
One that shall be an era to the world ! 

Cat. What's in your thoughts ! 

Aur, Our high and hurried life 
Has left us strangers to each other's souls : 
But now we think alike. You have a sword ! 
Have had a famous name in the legions ! 

Cat. Hush ! 

Aur, Have the walls ears ? alas ! I wish they had ; 
And tongues too, to bear witness to my oath, 
And tell it to all Rome. 

Cat, Would you destroy 1 

Aur, Were I a thunderbolt ! — 

Rome's ship is rotten : 
Has she not cast you out ; and would you sink 
With her, when she can give you no gain else 
Of her fierce fellowship ? Who'd seek the chain, 
That linked him to his mortal enemy 1 
Who'd face the pestilence in his foe's house ? 
Who, when the prisoner drinks by chance the cup, 
That was to be his death, would squeeze the dregs, 
To find a drop to bear him company ? 

Cat, It will not come to this. 

Aur, [Haughtily.) I'll not be dragged, 
A show to all the city rabble ; — robbed, — 
Down to the very mantle on our backs, — 
A pair of branded beggars ! Doubtless Cicero — 

Cat, Cursed be the ground he treads ! name him no more 

Aur. Doubtless, he'll see us to the city gates ; 
'Twill be the least respect that he can pay 
To his fallen rival. With all his lictors shouting, 
" Room for the noble vagrants ; all caps off 
For Catiline ! for him that would be consul." 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 415 

Cat. [Turning away.) Thus to be, like the scorpion, ringed 
with fire, 
Till I sting mine own heart ! (Aside.) There is no hope ! 

Aur. One hope there is, worth all the rest — Revenge ! 
The time is harassed, poor, and discontent ; 
Your spirit practised, keen, and desperate, — 
The senate lull of feuds — the city vext 
With petty tyranny— the legions wronged — 

Cat. Yet, w r ho has stirred 1 Aurelius, you paint the air 
With passion's pencil. 

Aur. Were my will a sword ! 

Cat. Hear me, bold heart. The whole gross blood of 
Rome 
Could not atone my wrongs ! Fm soul-shrunk, sick, 
Weary of man ! And now my mind is fixed 
For Libyia : there to make companionship 
Rather of bear and tiger, — of the snake, — 
The lion in his hunger, — than of man ! 

Aur. I had a father once, w T ho would have plunged 
Rome in the Tiber for an angry look ! 
You saw our entrance from the Gaulish war, 
When Sylla fled ? 

Cat. My legion was in Spain. 

Aur. Rome was all eyes ; the ancient tottered forth ; 
The cripple propped his limbs beside the wall ; 
The dying left his bed to look — and die. 
The way before us was a sea of heads ; 
The way behind a torrent of brown spears : 
So on we rode, in fierce and funeral pomp, 
Through the long, living streets. 

Cat. Those triumphs are but gewgaws. All the earth, 
What is it 1 Dust and smoke. I've done with life ! 

Aur. Before that eve — one hundred senators— 
And fifteen hundred knights, had paid — in blood, 
The price of taunts, and treachery, and rebellion ! 
Were my tongue thunder — I would cry, Revenge ! 

Cat. No more of this ! Begone and leave me ! 
There is a whirling lightness in my brain, 
That will not now bear questioning. Away ! 

(Aurelius moves slowly towards the door.) 
Where are our veterans now ? Look on these walls ; 
I cannot turn their tissues into life. 
Where are our revenues — our chosen friends ? 
Are we not beggars ? Where have beggars friends ? 
I see no swords and bucklers on these floors I 



410 UNITED STATES, SPEAKER. 

I shake the state ! I — What have I on earth 

But these two hands ? Must I not dig or starve ? 

Come back ! I had forgot. My memory dies, 

I think, by the hour. Who sups with us to-night ? 

Let all be of the rarest, — spare no cost. 

If 'tis our last ; — it may be — let us sink 

In sumptuous ruin, with wonderers round us! 

Our funeral pile shall send up amber smokes ; 

Well burn in myrrh, or — blood ! 



SELECTION XXII. 

DOUGLAS RABY. Moore. 

Douglas. Oh jealousy, thou aggregate of woes ! 
Were there no hell, thy torments would create one. 
But yet she may be guiltless — may ? she must. 
How beautiful she looked ! pernicious beauty ! 
Yet innocent as bright seemed the sweet blush 
That mantled on her cheek. But not for me, 
But not for me, those breathing roses blow ! 
And then she wept— What ! can I bear her tears ? 
Well — let her weep — hver tears are for another : 
Oh, did they fall for me, to dry their streams 
I'd drain the choicest blood that feeds this heart, 
Nor think the drops I shed were half so precious. (i& 
in a musing posture. Enter Lord Raby.) 

Raby. Sure I mistake— am I in Raby Castle ? 
Impossible ; that was the seat of smiles ; 
And cheerfulness and joy were household gods. 
I used to scatter pleasures when I came, 
And every servant shared his lord's delight ; 
But now suspicion and distrust dwell here, 
And discontent maintains a sullen sway. 
Where is the smile unfeigned, the jovial welcome, 
Which cheered the sad, beguiled the pilgrim's pain, 
And made dependency forget its bonds ? 
Where is the ancient, hospitable hall, 
Whose vaulted roof once rung with harmless mirth, 
Where every passing stranger was a guest, 
And every guest a friend ? I fear me much, 
If once our nobles scorn their rural seats, 
Their rural greatness, and their vassals' love, 
Freedom and English grandeur are no more. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 41" 

Dou. (Advancing.) My lord, you are welcome 

Raby. Sir, I trust I am ; 
But yet methinks 1 shall not feel I'm welcome 
Till my Elwina bless me with her smiles ; 
She was not wont with lingering step to meet me, 
Or greet my coming with a cold embrace ; 
Now, I extend my longing arms in vain : 
My child, my darling, does not come to fill them. 
Oh, they were happy days, when she would fly 
To meet me from the camp, or from the chase, 
And with her fondness overpay my toils ! 
How eager would her tender hands embrace 
The ponderous armor from my war-worn limbs, 
And pluck the helmet which opposed her kiss ! 

Dou. Oh, sweet delights, that never must be mine ! 

Raby. What do I hear ? 

Dou. Nothing : inquire no farther. 

Raby. My lord, if you respect an old man's peace, 
If e'er you doted on my much loved child, 
As 'tis most sure you made me think you did, 
Then, by the pangs which you may one day feel, 
When you, like me, shall be a fond, fond father, 
And tremble for the treasure of your age, 
Tell me what this alarming silence means 1 
You sigh, you do not speak, nay more, you hear not ; 
Your laboring soul turns inward on itself, 
As there were nothing but your own sad thoughts 
Deserved regard. Does my child live ? 

Dou. She does. 

Raby. To bless her father ! 

Dou. And to curse her husband ! 

Raby. Ah ! have a care, my lord, I'm not so old — 

Dou. Nor I so base, that I should tamely bear it ; 
Nor am I so inured to infamy, 
That I can say, without a burning blush, 
She lives to be my curse ! 

Raby. How's this ? 

Dou. I thought 
The lily opening to the heaven's soft dews, 
Was not so fragrant, and was not so chaste. 

Raby. Has she proved otherwise 1 I'll not believe it 
Who has traduced my sweet, my innocent child ? 
Yet she's too good to escape calumnious hands. 
I know that slander loves a lofty mark • 
It saw her soar a flight above her fellows, 



418 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

And hurled its arrow to her glorious height, 
To reach her heart, and bring her to the ground. 

Dou. Had the harsh tongue of slander so presumed, 
My vengeance had not been of that slow sort 
To need a prompter ; nor shall any arm, 
No, not a father's, dare dispute with mine, 
The privilege to die in her defense. 
None dares accuse Elwina but — 

Raby. But who ? 

Dou. But Douglas. 

Raby. {Puts his hand to his sword.) You ? 
Oh, spare my age's weakness ! 
You do not know what 'tis to be a father ; 
You do not know, or you would pity me, 
The thousand tender throbs, the nameless feelings, 
The dread to ask, and yet the wish to know, 
"When we adore and fear ; but wherefore fear ? 
Does not the blood of Raby fill her veins 1 

Dou. Percy ; — knowest thou that name 1 

Raby. How ? What of Percy ? 

Dou. He loves Elwina, and my curses on him ! 
He is beloved again. 

Raby. I'm on the rack ! 

Dou. Not the two Theban brothers bore each other 
Such deep, deadly hate as I and Percy. 

Raby. But tell me of my child. 

Dou. (Not minding him.) As I and Percy ! 
When at the marriage rites, Oh rites accursed ! 
I seized her trembling hand, she started back, 
Cold horror thrilled her veins, her tears flowed fast. 
Fool that I was, I thought 'twas maiden fear : 
Dull, doting ignorance : beneath those terrors, 
Hatred for me, and love for Percy lurked. 

Raby. What proof of guilt is this ? 

Dou. E'er since our marriage, 
Our days have still been cold and joyless all ; 
Painful restraint, and hatred ill disguised, 
Her sole return for my waste of fondness. 
This very morn I told her 'twas your will 
She should repair to court, with all those graces, 
Which first subdued my soul, and still enslave it. 
She begged to stay behind in Raby Castle, 
For courts and cities had no charms for her. 
Curse my blind love ! I was again msnared, 
And doted on the sweetness which deceived me. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 4 J 9 

Just at the hour she thought I should be absent, 
For chance could ne'er have timed their guilt so well. 
Arrived young Harcourt, one of Percy's knights, 
. Strictly enjoined to speak to none but her ; 
I seized the miscreant : hitherto he's silent ; 
But tortures soon shall force him to confess. 

Raby. Percy is absent. — They have never met. 

Dou. At what a feeble hold you grasp for succor ! 
Will it content me that her person's pure ? 
No, if her alien heart dotes on another, 
She is unchaste, were not that other Percy. 
Let vulgar spirits basely wait for proof, 
She loves another — 'tis enough for Douglas. 

Raby. Be patient. 

Dou. Be a tame convenient husband, 
And meanly wait for circumstantial guilt ? 
No — I am nice as the first Caesar was, 
And start at bare suspicion. (Going.) 

Raby. (Holding him.) Douglas, hear me : 
Thou hast named a Roman husband ; if she's false, 
I mean to prove a Roman father. 



SELECTION XXIII. 

VERNER ALBERT TELL. KnowleS. 

Verner. Ah ! Albert ! What have you there ? 

Albert. My bow and arrows, Verner. 

Ver. When will you use them like your father, boy ? 

Alb. Sometime, I hope. 

Ver. You brag ! There's not an archer 
In all Helvetia can compare with him. 

Alb. But I'm his son : and when I am a man, 
I may be like him. Verner, do I brag, 
To think I sometime may be like my father ? 
If so, then is it he that teaches me ; 
For, ever as I wonder at his skill, 
He calls me boy, and says I must do more 
Ere I become a man. 

Ver. May you be such 
A man as he — if heaven wills, better — I'll 
Not quarrel with its work ; yet 'twill content me 
If you are only such a man. 

Alb. I'll show yo^ 
How I can shoot. (Goes out to fix the mark.) 



420 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Vet. Nestling as he is, he is the making of a bird 
Will own no cowering wing. (Re-enter Albert.) 

Alb. Now, Yerner, look ! (Shoots.) There's within 
An inch ! 

Ver. Oh fy ! it wants a hand. (Exit Verner.) 

Alb. A hand's 
An inch forme. I'll hit it yet. Now for it! (While Albert 

continues to shoot, Tell enters and watches him some time* in 

silence.) 

Tell. That's scarce a miss that comes so near the mark ! 
Well aimed, young archer ! With what ease he bends 
The bow ! To see those sinews, who'd believe 
Such strength did lodge in them ? That little arm, 
His mother s palm can span, may help, anon, 
To pull a sinewy tyrant from his seat, 
And from their chains a prostrate people lift 
To liberty. I'd be content to die, 
Living to see that day ! What, Albert ! 

Alb. Ah! 
My father ! 

Tell. You raise the bow 
Too fast. (Albert continues shooting.) 
Bring it slowly to the eye. — You've missed. 
How often have you hit the mark to-day ? 

Alb. Not once, yet. 

Tell. You're not steady. I perceived 
You wavered now. Stand firm. Let every limb 
Be braced as marble, and as motionless. 
Stand like the sculptor's statue, on the gate 
Of Altorf, that looks life, yet neither breathes 
Nor stirs. (Albert shoots.) That's better ! 
See well the mark. Rivet your eye to it ! 
There let it stick, fast as the arrow would, 
Could you but send it there. (Albert shoots.) 
You've missed again ! How would you fare, 
Suppose a wolf should cross your path, and you 
Alone, with but your bow, and only time 
To fix a single arrow 1 'T would not do 
To miss the wolf ! You said, the other day, 
Were you a man, you'd not let Gesler live — 
'Twas easy to say that. Suppose you, now, 
Your life or his depended on that shot ! — 
Take care ! That's Gesler ! — Now for liberty ! 
Right to the tyrant's heart ! (Hits the mark.) Well done my boy! 
Come here. How early were you up ? 



dramatic and sentimental 421 

Alb. Before the sun. 

Tell. Ay, strive with him. He never lies abed 
When it is time to rise. Be like the sun. 

Alb. What you would have me like, I'll be like. 
As far as will *o labor joined can make me. 

Tell. Well said, my boy ! Knelt you when you got up 
To-day ? 

Alb. I did ; and do so every day. 

Tell. I know you do ! And think you, when you kne^l, 
To whom you kneel 1 

Alb. To Him who ma^e me, father. 

Tell. And in whose name ? 

Alb. The name of Him who died 
For me and all men, that all men and I 
Should live. 

Tell. That's right. Remember that, my son : 
Forget all things but that — remember that ! 
'Tis more than friends or fortune ; clothing, food ; 
All tilings on earth ; yea, life itself! — It is 
To live, when these are gone, where they are nought — 
With God ! My son, remember that ! 

Alb. I will. 

Tell. Pm glad you value what you're taught. 
That is the lesson of content, my son ; 
He who finds which, has all — who misses, nothing. 

Alb. Content is a good thing. 

Tell. A thing, the good 
Alone can profit by. But go, Albert, 
Reach thy cap and wallet, and thy mountain staff. 
Don't keep me waiting. . (Exit A ] bert.) 

(Tell paces the stage in thought. Re-enter Albert.) 

Alb. I am ready, father. 

Tell. (Taking Albert by the hand.) Now mark me, Albert! 
Dost thou fear the snow, 
The ice-field, or the hail flaw ? Carest thou for 
The mountain-mist that settles on the peak, 
When thou art upon it ? Dost thou tremble ai 
The torrent roaring from the deep ravine, 
Along whose shaking ledge thy track doth M* * 
Or faintest thou at the thunder-clap, when on 
The hill thou art o'ertaken by the cloud, 
And it doth burst around thee ? Thou must travel 
All night. 

Alb. I'm ready ; say all night again. 

36 



422 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Tell. The mountains are to cross, for thou must reach 
Mount Faigel by the dawn. 

Alb. Not sooner shall 
The dawn be there than L 

Tell. Heaven speeding thee. « 

Alb. Heaven speeding me. 

Tell. Show me thy staff. Art sure 
Of the point ? I think 'tis loose. No — stay ! Twill do. 
Caution is speed when danger's to be passed. 
Examine well the crevice. Do not trust the snow ! 
'Tis well there is a moon to-night. B 
You're sure of the track ? 

Alb. Quite sure. 

Tell. The buskin of 
That leg's untied ; stoop down and fasten it. 
You know the point where you must round the cliff ? 

Alb. I do. 

Tell. Thy belt is slack — draw it tight. 
Erni is m Mount Faigel : take this dagger 
And give it him ; you know its caverns well. 
In one of them you will find him. Farewell. 

( They embrace. Exit Albert ) 
Eaglet of my heart ! When thou wast born, 
The land was free ! Heavens ! with what pride I used 
To walk these hills, and look up to my God, . 

And bless him that it was so. It was free — 
From end to end, from cliff to lake — 'twas free ! 
Free as the torrents are that leap our rocks. 
How happy was it then ! I loved 
Its very storms. I have sat at midnight 
In my boat, when midway o'er the lake, 
The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge 
The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed 
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled 
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, 
Vnd cried in thralldom to the furious wind, 
Blow on ! This is the land of liberty ! 



SELECTION XXIV. 

PRINCE ARTHUR HUBERT ATTENDANTS. Shakspeare. 

Hubert. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thou standi 
Within the arras ; when I strike my foot, 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 423 

And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 

First Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. 

Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to it. — 

(Exeunt Attendants.) 
Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 
(Enter Arthur.) 

Arthur. Good-morrow, Hubert. 

Hub. Good-morrow, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
To be more prince) as may be ; — You are sad. 

Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on me ! 
Methinks nobody should be sad but I : 
Yet I remember, when I was in France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
I should be merry as the day is long ; 
And so I would be h3re, but that I doubt 
My uncle practices more harm to me : 
He is afraid of me, and I of him : 
Is it my fault that I were Geoffrey's son ? 
No indeed, is't not ; and I would to heaven, 
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 

Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. (Aside.) 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert 1 You look pale to-day. 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
That I might sit all night, and watch with you. 
I warrant I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom. — 
Read here, young Arthur. (Showing a paper.) How now 

foolish rheum ! (Aside.) 
Turning dispiteous torture out the door ! 
I must be brief ; lest resolution drop 
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.— 
Can you not read it ? Is it not fair writ 1 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes t 

Hub. Young boy, I must, 

Arth. And will you ? 

Hub. And 1 will. 



424 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but ache 
I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) 
And I did never ask it you again : 
And with my hand at midnight held your head, 
And like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time ; 
Saying, What lack you ? and, Where lies your grief ? 
Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 
Many a poor man 5 s son would have lain still, 
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
But you at your sick service had a prince. 
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, 
And call it cunning : do, an if you will : 
If heaven be pleased that you should use me ill, 
Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes ? 
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, 
So much as frown on you 1 

Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 
And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it : 
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
And quench its fiery indignation, 
Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 
But for containing fire to harm mine eye. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron ? 
An if an angel should have come to me, 
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have believed no tongue but Hubert's. 

Hub. Come forth. (Stamps.) 

(Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, SfC.) 
Do as I bid you. 

Arth. Oh, save me, Hubert, save me ! My eyes k-j out. 
Even with the fierce looks of the bloody men. 

Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 

Arth. Alas ! what need you be so boisterous-rough : 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ! 
Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, 
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
Nor look upon the irons angrily ; 



DRAMATIC UND SENTIMENTAL. 425 

Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Hub. Go stand within ; let me alone with him. 

First Attend. 1 am best pleased to be from such a deed. 

{Exeunt Attendant -»,) 

Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend : 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arth. Oh heaven ! that there were but a mote in yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 
Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, 
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 

Hub. Is this your promise ? Go to, hold your tongue. 

Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 
So I may keep mine eyes ; Oh, spare mine eyes, 
Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
And would not harm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 

Arth. No, in good sooth, the fire is dead with grief- 
Being create for comfort — to be used 
In undeserved extremes : See else yourself: 
There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven hath blown its spirit out, 
And strewed repentant ashes on his head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 

Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush 
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert ; 
Nay it perchance, will sparkle in your eyes, 
And, like a dog, that is compelled to fight, 
Snatch at his master that does tarre him on. 
All things, that you should use to do me wrong, 
Deny their office ; only you do lack 
That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron extends, — 
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyes 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owns ; 

as* 



426 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arth. Oh, now you look like Hubert ! all this while 
You were disguised. 

Hub. Peace : no more : Adieu ! — 
Your uncle must not know but you are dead: 
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
And pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
Will not offend thee. 

Arth. Oh heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 

Hub. Silence : no more. Go closely in with me : 
Much danger do I undergo for thee. 



SELECTION XXV. 
king edward — Warwick — Suffolk. — Franklin. 

King Edward. Good Suffolk, for awhile 
I would be private ; therefore, wait without ; 
Let me have no intruders ; above all, 
Ke.ep Warwick from my sight. [Exit Suffolk. Enter Warwick.) 

Warwick. Behold him here ; 
No welcome guest, it seems, unless I ask 
My lord of Suffolk's leave : there was a time 
When Warwick wanted not his aid to gain 
Admission here. 

K. Edw. There was a time, perhaps, 
When Warwick more desired and more deserved it. 

War. Never : I've been a foolish faithful slave : 
All my best years, the morning of my life, 
Have been devoted to your service : what 
Are now the fruits 1 disgrace and infamy : 
My spotless name, which never yet the breath 
Of calumny had tainted, made the mock 
For foreign fools to carp at : but 'tis fit 
Who trust in princes, should be thus rewarded. 

K. Edw. I thought, my lord, I had full well repaid 
Your services with honors, wealth, and power 
Unlimited : thy all-directing hand 
Guided in secret every latent wheel 
Of government, and moved the whole machine : 
Warwick was all in all, and powerless Edward 
Stood like a cipher in the great account. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL 427 

War. Who gave that cipher worth, and seated thee 
On England's throne ? Thy undistinguished name 
Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprung, 
And moldered in oblivion, had not Warwick 
Dug from its sordid mine the useless or-e, 
And stamped it with a diadem. Thou knowest, 
This wretched country, doomed, perhaps, like Rome 
To fall by its own self-destroying hand, 
Tossed for so many years in the rough sea 
Of civil discord, but for me had perished. 
In that distressful hour I seized the helm, 
Bade the rough wave subside in peace ; and steered 
Your shattered vessel safe into the harbor. 
You may despise, perhaps, that useless aid 
Which you no longer want ; but know, proud youth, 
He who forgets a friend, deserves a foe. 

K. Edw. Know too, reproach for benefits received 
Pays every debt, and cancels obligation. 

War. Why, that indeed is frugal honesty, 
A thrifty saving know 1 edge ; when the debt 
Grows burdensome, and cannot be discharged, 
A sponge will wipe out all and cost you nothing. 

K. Edw. When you have counted o'er the numerous train 
Of mighty gifts your bounty lavished on me, 
You may remember next the injuries 
Which I have done you ; let me know them all, 
And I will make you ample satisfaction. 

War. Thou canst not ; thou hast robbed me of a jewel 
It is not in thy power to restore : 
I was the first, shall future annals say, 
That broke the sacred bonds of public trust 
And mutual confidence : embassadors, 
In after times, mere instruments, perhaps, 
Of venal statesmen, shall recall my name 
To witness that they want not an example, 
And plead my guilt to sanctify their own. 
Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves 
That haunt your court, could none be found but Warwick, 
To be the shameless herald of a lie ? 

K. Edw. And wouldst thou turn the vile reproach on ine ? 
If I have broke my faith, and stained the name 
Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels, 
That urged me to it, and extorted from me 
A cold consent to what my heart abhorred. 

War. IVa been abused, insulted, and betrayed ; 



428 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

My injured honor cries aloud for vengeance,— 
Her wounds will never close ! 

K. Edw. These gusts of passion 
Will but inflame them ; if I have been right 
Informed, my lord, besides the dangerous fears 
Of bleeding honor, you have other wounds 
As deep, though not so fatal : such, perhaps, 
As none but fair Elizabeth can cure. 

War. Elizabeth ! 

K. Edw. Nay, start not, I have cause 
To wonder most ; I little thought, indeed, 
When Warwick told me I might learn to love, 
He was himself so able to instruct me. 
But I've discovered all. 

War. And so have I : 
Too well I know thy breach of friendship there, 
Thy fruitless, base endeavors to supplant me. 

K. Edw. I scorn it, sir ; Elizabeth hath charms* 
And I have equal right with you to admire them : 
Nor see I ought so godlike in the form, 
So all-commanding in the name of Warwick, 
That he alone should revel in the charms 
Of beauty, and monopolize perfection. 
I knew not of your love. 

War. By heaven, 'tis false ! 
You knew it all, and meanly took occasion, 
Whilst I was busied in the noble office, 
Your grace thought fit to honor me withal, 
To tamper with a weak unguarded woman, — 
To bribe her passions high, and basely steal 
A treasure which your kingdom could not purchase. 

K. Edw. How know you that 1 but be it as it may, 
I had a right, nor will I tamely yield 
My claim to happiness, the privilege, 
To choose the partner of my throne and bed : 
It is a branch of my prerogative. 

War. Prerogative ! what's that ? the boast of tyrants J 
A borrowed jewel, glittering in the crown 
With specious lustre, lent but to betray : 
You had it, sir, and hold it from the people. 

K. Edw. And therefore do I prize it ; I would guard 
Their liberties, and they shall strengthen mine ; 
But when proud faction and her rebel crew 
Insult their sovereign, trample on his laws, 
And bid defiance to his power, the people, 



DRAMATIC AXD SENTIMENTAL. 429 

In justice to themselves, will then defend 
Hrs cause, and vindicate the rights they gave. 

War. Go to your darling people then ; for soon, 
If I mistake not, 'twill he needful ; try 
Their boasted zeal, and see if one of them 
Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause, 
If I forbid him. 

K. Edw. Is it so, my lord ? 
Then mark my words : I've been your slave too long, 
And you have ruled me with a rod of iron. 
But henceforth know, proud peer, I am thy master, 
And will be so : the king who delegates 
His power to other's hands, but ill deserves 
The crown he wears. 

War. Look well then to your own ; 
It sits but loosely on your head ; for, know, 
The man who injured Warwick never passed 
Unpunished yet. 

K. Edw. Nor he who threatened Edward — 
You may repent it, sir- — my guards there ! seize 
This traitor, and convey him to the tower ; 
There let him learn obedience. 

{Enter guards, who seize Warwick.) 

War. Slaves, stand off : 
If I must yield my sword, I'll give it him 
Whom it so long has served : there's not a part 
In this old faithful steel, that is not stained 
With English blood in grateful Edward's cause. 
Gire me my chains, they are the bands of friendship, 
Of a king's friendship ; for his sake, awhile 
I'll wear them. 

K. Edw. Hence : away with him. 

War. 'Tis well : 
Exert your power, it may not last you long ; 
For know, though Edward may forget his friend, 
That England will not. Now, sir, I attend you. 



SELECTION XXVI. 

CASWALLON MADOR FITZ-EDWARD. Walker. 

Mador. My lord, the prisonei. [Exit Mador.) 

(Fitz-Edward is hrwgkt in guarded,) 
Caswallon. Let me look on him — 
His friendly visit shall have fitting welcome.— 



430 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Good sooth — a gallant presence ! it should speak 

The embassador methinks, and not the spy. 

Thou comest with message from our mighty masters ; 

Doubtless 'tis so : — in sending thee they deemed 

That lofty carriage could not but suffice 

At once to fright us into good behavior. 

Fair youth — thy noble pleasure ? 

Fitz-Edward. Scornful man — 
I reck not of thy taunts, — who merits not 
May well despise them ; but before I tell 
The purport of my presence here, resolve me— 
Art thou the chief of this insurgent troop, 
Or whom do I address 1 

" Cas. Ask of thy country : — 
Ask at whose uttered name in times of yore 
The stoutest of her warriors shook with dread ; 
Whom even yet perhaps she chiefly fears. 
Ask who it is that still hath stood erect 
E'en in the midst of kneeling Cambria : 
Who still hath scorned her conqueror — disowned— 
Despised — spurned — baffled him,— and I am he ! 

Fitz-Ed. Is't possible ? — Caswallon \ 

Cas. Ay, Caswallon. 
What J doth it shake thee ? — Is the gulf that gapes 
Beneath thy tottering feet, at length revealed 1 
Thou art Caswallon's captive. — 

Fitz-Ed. Haughty lord \ 
Think not that I stoop to deprecate your wrath. 
My life is in your hands : — I am unarmed. 
Use your advantage as you may — I reck not, 
Yet — though the assertion now, I blush to think it, 
May somewhat show like the device of fear, — 
Yet truth demands my utterance to declare 
I did not seek your hills with hostile aim — 
I am not what you think me. — ■ 

Cas. No ! and yet 
Thou art a Saxon ? — and thy coming hithe? 
Doubtless it was — 

Fitz-Ed. To serve ye — yes, to save. 
For think not that your rising is unknown : 
Or that the Argus hate of Mortimer 
Is slumbering 'mid your councils. Wretched men! 
*Twas pity for your past, your present woes 
That brought me hither. Oh ! it is most true 
Ye have had wrongs™ 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 431 

Cas. Indeed ! 

Fitz-Ed* And heaven's my witness 
That I have felt them to my inmost soul. 
That I have ne'er forgot the ties that bind me 
To my dear — my native land, nor yet — 

Cas. Thy land ! 
Thine ! — did I hear aright ? — and thou art then — 

Fitz-Ed. E'en like thyself, a Cambrian. 

Cas. He avows it ! 
Hear him ! — he heralds forth his own deep shame ! 
Pranked in the trappings of his guilt, he comes 
To beard us with the boast — the very boast 
Of his apostate baseness ! 

Fitz-Ed. Spare to chide 
Till thou hast heard my story. — I have fought 
Abroad beneath the banner, it is true, 
Of English Edward : true, to him I owe 
My name — my knighthood — all that I possess. 
Since from my earliest years, while yet an infant, 
Found after Deva's fight, I still have lived — 

Cas. That fight ! — oh name it not ! ( Covering his face^ ana 
then regarding Fitz-Edward with softened looks.) 
Unhappy youth ! 

Art thou a sufferer too from that same fight ? 
Yet do not tell me. Oh, thou hast recalled 
Days of despair and images of horror ! — 
A murdered wife and son. No more — no more. 
And thou wert ravished from thy parents, youth ? 
So ran thy tale. 

Fitz-Ed. 'Tis all I have to tell. 
*Tis all I know, that in the sanctuary 
Of a deserted convent, chance revealed me 
Beside a dying mother. 

Cas. Heavenly powers ! 
But this is strange — and stranger thoughts provokes. 
A convent ! — 'Twas to such a place — The time too 
Exactly suiting. — A deserted convent !— 
The name ; — the name ? 

Fitz-Ed. What can this mean 1 

Cas. ( With impatient eagerness.) The name t 

Fitz-Ed. I have been told — 

Cas. Was it St. Cybi's ? 

Fitz-Ed. Ha ! 
You then have heard — 



432 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Cas, It was ! and I am wild 
With hope new risen as from the vanquished tomb ! 
{Re-Enter Mador.) 

Mad. My lord, the assembled bands — 

Cas. I know. — Come hither, 
Dost thou observe that youth ? — his shape — his mien — 
Nay — look upon him : for by all my hopes 
Here and hereafter, I do think that youth 
To be the child of my Guideria, 
My long-lost living son. 

Mad. That Saxon knight, 
Thy son ! 

Fitz-Ed. (Aside.) Amazement mocks my every s-ense * 
Why should he eye me with such altered looks ? — 
Haply he knew my parents. — Ha ! — dread chief — 
If aught, as thy demeanor doth denote, 
Aught of my birth thou knowest, I do beseech thee 
Declare it. Have I — oh ! I fear to ask — 
Have I a father ? — thou art silent. Speak. 
Restore to me a father ; — or if fate 
Hath envious snatched him from these filial arms, 
Restore to me a name, and I will bless thee ! 

Cas. Yet, yet, my heart, thou art too small to hold 
A tide of bliss so copious ! One word more. — 
Thou namedst an expiring mother. 

Fitz-Ed. Struck 
By a chance arrow, as I since have heard, 
While flying with myself, her infant charge, 
From the victorious foe — to earth she fell : 
And from her arms, that could no longer hold, 
Unwilling gave me up — gave me to him 
Who led that day the assailant host, and now 
With sorrowing heart stood o'er her as she died. 

Cas. Go on — she spoke to him. 

Fitz-Ed. She fain had spoken, 
But could not — could not thank him for his oath 
That nought should harm me, but with trembling lips 
Just breathed the name of Armyn, and expired. 

Cas. The name of Armyn ! I can doubt no longer ■ 
Off! — let me hold him to my bursting heart : 
My own — my living son ! 

Fitz-Ed. Mysterious heaven ! 
Art thou my father ! — thou art — thy looks — 
These clasping hands — all — all proclaim the truth. 
Oh ! let me kneel — 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 433 

Cos. {Preventing him.) No — to my bosom ever. 
And am I still a father ? Haste thou, Mador, 
Spread wide my bliss — thou knowest to whom it will be 
Most grateful. [Exit Mador.) 
My bold Armyn, dost thou weep ? 

Fitz-Ed. A most degenerate softness that I blush at-- 
But 'tis confessed — my heart is all too weak, 
Unmoved to stem this sudden surge of joy. 

Cas. Alas ! my son, — now as I look upon thee, 
Past times live o'er again. The veiling mist 
That years have shed o'er my young manhood's morn 
Doth break away, and all its hopes and joys 
In shining prospect stand revealed before me. 
1 see thee still an infant, as when last 
We parted ; when from off my brow I put 
Its dragon-crested terrors, and impressed 
A father's hasty farewell on thy cheek. 
Oh ! then, amid her tears, thy mother smiled. 
Let from my thought what followed. I have much, 
My son, to pour into thy listening ear ; 
But moments now are precious. Go Ave hence, 
And on the way I will discourse with thee. 
Thy fate is glorious ; thou shalt uplift 
To its proud state and ancient sovereignty 
The trampled standard of thy country's fame ! — 
From the mid-eyry of her hundred hills, 
Shouting triumphant o'er her tyrant foes, 
Thy mother-land shall vaunt of thee for ever ! 
Thy hand. Caswallon welcomes his brave son 
To the last sole retreat of Cambrian freedom. 



SELECTION XXVII. 
bourbon — gonzales. — Kemble. 

Bourbon. How now ? 
A priest ! what means this most unwelcome visit ? 

Gonzales. Who questions thus a son of the holy church ? 
Look on these walls, whose stern, time-stained brows 
Frown like relentless justice on their inmates ! 
Listen ! — that voice is echo's dull reply * 

Unto the rattling of your chains, my lord : — 
What should a priest do here 1 

'67 



134 UNITED STATES SPEAKER, 

Bout. Ay, what, indeed ! — 
Unless you come to soften down these stones 
With your discourse, and teach the tedious echo 
A newer lesson : trust me, that is all 
Your presence, father, will accomplish here. 

Go?i. Oh ! sinful man ! and is thy heart so hard, 
That I might easier move thy prison stones ! 
Know, then, my mission — death is near at hand ! 

Bour. Go to ! go to ! I have fought battles, father. 
Where death and I have met in full close contact, 
And parted, knowing we should meet again ; 
Go prate to others about skulls and graves ; 
Thou never didst in heat of combat stand, 
Or know what good acquaintance, soldiers have 
With the pale scarecrow — death ! 

Gon. (Aside.) Ah ! thinkest thou so ? 
Hear me, thou hard of heart ! 
They who go forth to battles, are led on 
With sprightly trumpets and shrill clamorous clarions 
The drum doth roll its double notes along. 
Echoing the horses' tramp ; and the sweet fife 
Runs through the yielding air m dulcet measure, 
That makes the heart leap in its case of steel ! 
Thou shalt be knelled unto thy death by bells, 
Ponderous and iron-tongued, whose sullen toll 
Shall cleave thy aching brain, and on thy soul & 

Fall with a leaden weight : the muffled drum 
Shall mutter round thy path like distant thunder ; 
Instead of the war-cry, the wild battle-roar, — 
That swells upon the tide of victory, 
And seems unto the conqueror's eager ear, 
Triumphant harmony of glorious discords, 
There shall be voices cry foul shame on thee ! 
A.nd the infuriate populace shall clamor 
To heaven for lightnings on thy rebel head ! 

Bour. Monks love not bells, which call them up to praymtj 
*n the dead noon of night, when they would snore, 
Rather than watch : but, father, I care not, 
E'en if the ugliest sound I e'er did hear — 
Thy raven voice — croak curses o'er my grave. 

Gon. What ! death and shame ! alike you heed them not J 
Then, mercy ! use thy soft, persuasive arts, 
A.nd melt this stubborn spirit! Be it known 
To you, my lord, the queen hath sent me hither. 

Bour. Then get thee hence again, foul, pandering priest ' 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 435 

By heaven ! I knew that cowl did cover o'er 
Some filthy secret, that the day dared not 
To pry into — out, thou unholy thing ! 

Gon. Hold, madman ! 
If for thy fame, if for thy warm heart's blood 
Thou wilt not hear me, listen in the name of France, thy country ! 

Bour. I have no country, — 
I am a traitor, cast from out the arms 
Of my ungrateful country ! I disown it ! 
Withered be all its glories, and its pride ! 
May it become the slave of foreign power ! 
May foreign princes grind its thankless children, 
And make all those who are such fools, as yet 
To spill their blood for it, or for its cause, 
Dig it like dogs ! and when they die, like dogs, 
Rot on its surface, and make fat the soil, 
Whose produce shall be seized by foreign hands ! 

Gon. You beat the air with idle words ; no man 
Doth know how deep his country's love lies grained 
In his heart's core, until the hour of trial! 
Fierce though you hurl your curse upon the land, 
Whose monarchs cast ye from its bosom, yet 
Let but one blast of war come echoing 
From where the Ebro and the Duero roll, — 
Let but the Pyrenees, reflect the gleam 
Of twenty of Spain's lances, — and your sword 
Shall leap from out its scabbard to your hand ! 

Bour. Ay, priest, it shall ! eternal heaven, it shall 
And its far flash, shall lighten o'er the land, 
The leading star of Spain's victorious host, 
But flaming like some dire portentous comet, 
i.n the eyes of France, and her proud governors ! 
Be merciful, my fate, nor cut me off 
Ere I have wreaked my fell desire, and made 
Infamy glorious, and dishonor fame ! 
I>ut, if my wayward destiny hath willed 
That I should here be butchered shamefully, 
By the immortal soul that is man's portion, 
His hope and his inheritance, I swear, 
That on the day that Spain o'erflows Its bounds, 
And rolls the tide of war upon these plains, 
My spirit on the battle's edge shall ride ; 
And louder than death's music and the roar 
Of combat, shall my voke be heard to shout, 
On — on — to victory and carnage ! 



436 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Gon. Now 
That day is come, ay, and that very hour; 
Now shout your war-cry, now unsheath your sword! 
I'll join the din, and make these tottering walls 
Tremble and nod to hear our fierce defiance ! 
Nay, never start, and look upon my cowl. — 
Off ! vile denial of my manhood's pride !— 
Nay, stand not gazing thus : it is Garcia, 
Whom thou hast met in deadly fight full oft, 
When France and Spain joined in the battle-field ! 
Beyond the Pyrenean boundary 
That guards thy land are forty thousand men- 
Impatient halt they there ; their foaming steeds 
Pawing the huge and rock-built barrier, 
That bars their further course : they wait for thee : 
For thee whom France hath injured and cast off : 
For thee, whose blood it pays with shameful chains, 
More shameful death ; for thee, whom Charles of Spain 
Summons to head his host, and lead them on 
To conquest and to glory ! 

Bour. To revenge ! 
Why, how we dream ! why look, Garcia ; canst thou 
With mumbled priestcraft file away these chains, 
Or must I bear them into Spain with me, 
That Charles may learn what guerdon valor wins 
This side the Pyrenees ? 

Gon. It shall not need — 
What ho ! but hold — together with this garb, 
Me thinks I have thrown off my prudence ! 

[Resumes the monk's cowl.) 

Bour. What ! 
Wilt thou to Spain with me in frock and cowl, 
That men shall say De Bourbon is turned driveler, 
And rides to war in company with monks ? 

Gon. Listen, the queen for her own purposes 
Confided to my hand her signet-ring, 
Bidding me strike your fetters off, and lead you 
By secret passes to her private chamber ; 
But being free, so use thy freedom, that 
Before the morning's dawn all search be fruitless. — 
What ho ! within. [Enter Jailer.) 
Behold this signet-ring ! 

Strike off those chains, and get thee gone. (Exit Jailer.) 

And now follow. — How's this — dost doubt me, Bourbon 1 

Bour. Ay, 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL 437 

First for thy habit's sake ; and next, because 
Thou rather, in a craven priest's disguise, 
Tarriest in danger in a foreign court, 
Than seekest that danger in thy country's wars. 

Gon. Thou art unarmed : there is my daggei ; 'tis 
The only weapon that I bear, lest fate 
Should play me false ; take it, and use it, too, 
If in the dark and lonely path I lead thee, 
Thou markest me halt, or turn, or make a sign 
Of treachery ! — but first tell me, dost know 
John Count Laval ? 

Bour. What ! Lautrec's loving friend, 
Now bound for Italy, along with him 1 

Gon. Then the foul fiend hath mingled in my plot, 
And marred it too ! my life's sole aim and purpo&e ! 
Didst thou but know what damned injuries, 
What foul unknightly shame and obloquy, 
His sire — whose name is wormwood to my mouth — 
Did heap upon our house — didst thou but know — 
No matter — get thee gone — I tarry here. 
And should we never meet again, when thou 
Shalt hear of the most fearful deed of daring, 
Of the most horrible and bloody tale, 
That ever graced a beldam's midnight legend, 
Or froze her gaping listeners, think of me 
And my revenge ! now, Bourbon, heaven speed thee ! 



SELECTION XXVIII. 

COL. WALSINGHAM BARON HOHENDAHL— ALASCO.- — Skee. 

Walsingham. Nay ! my good lord ! you carry this too far \ 
Alasco leader of a band of rebels ! 
Impossible ! 

Hohendahl. I have it here in proof ; 
Rebellion wears his livery, and looks big 
In promise of his aid : his followers 
Are seen in midnight muster on our hills, 
Rehearsing insurrection, and arrayed 
In mimicry of war. 

Wal. It cannot be ! 
By heaven it cannot be ! — your spies deceive you. 
I know the madness of the time has reached him, 

37* 



438 UNITED STATES SPEAKKX. 

And when the fit is on, like other fools, 
He raves of liberty and public rights ; 
But he would scorn to lead the low cabals 
Of vassal discontent and vulgar turbulence. 

HoL My good old friend ! your loyal nature yields 
Unwilling credence to such crimes as these ; 
But I have marked Alasco well, and found, 
Beneath the mask of specious seeming, still 
The captious critic of authority ; 
Ready to clap sedition on the back, 
And stir the very dregs and lees of life, 
To foam upon its surface — but I see 
The subject moves you. 

Wal. Yes, it does, indeed ! 
His father was my friend and fellow-soldier ; 
A braver spirit never laid his life 
Upon his country's altar. At my side 
He fell — his wife and son, with his last breath, 
Bequeathing to my care — a sacred trust, 
Of half its duties speedily curtailed ; 
For grief soon bowed the widow to her grave 
Sole guardian of Alasco, 'twas my pride 
To form him like his father — and indeed, 
So apt in honor and all worth he grew, 
My wishes scarce kept pace with his advancement. 
While yet a boy, I led him to the field, 
And there such gallant spirit he displayed, 
That e'en the steady veteran in the breach 
Was startled at his daring. To be brief, — 
I loved him as my son. (Enter Alasco.) 
You were our theme, Alasco. 

Alasco. A subject, sir, unworthy of discussion, 
If slander have not given it a zest. 

Wal. Slander, Alasco ! 

Alas. Ay, sir, slander's abroad, 
And busy ; few escape her — she can take 
All shapes — and sometimes, from the blistered lips 
Of galled authority, will pour her slime 
On all who dare dispute the claims of pride, 
Or question the high privilege of oppression. 

Hoh. Your words seem pointed, sir ; and splenetic. 

Alas. They are honest, my lord, and you well understand 
them. 

Wal. What means this heat, Alasco ? Innocence 
Can fear no slander, and suspects no foe 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 439 

Alas. He's on his guard who knows his enemy, 
And innocence may safely trust her shield 
Against an open foe ; but who's so mailed 
That slander shall not reach him ? — coward calumny 
Stabs in the dark. (Going.) 

Wal. Alasco ! — Count Alasco ! 

Alas. (Returning,) Sir, your pleasure ? 

Wal. 'Tis now, methinks, some twenty years, or more, 
Since that brave man, your father, and my friend, 
While life scarce fluttered on his quivering lips, 
Consigned your youthful fortunes to my care. 

Alas. And nobly, sir, your generous spirit stands 
Acquitted of that trust. 

Wal. 'Tis well ! — perhaps 
I may assume I've been Alasco's friend. 

Alas. My friend ! — my father ! — say, my more than father! 
And let me still, with love and reverence, pay 
The duty of a son. 

Wal. A son of mine 
Must be the soul of loyalty and honor : 
A scion worthy of the stock he grafts on : 
No factious mouther of imagined wrongs, 
To sting and goad the maddening multitude 
And set the monster loose for desolation. 

Alas. Is this to me ! — has slander gone so far, 
As dare to taint the honor of Alasco ? 

Wal. How suits it with the honor of Alasco, 
To plot against his country's peace, and league 
With low confederates, for a lawless purpose ? 
xManceuvring miscreants in the form of war, 
And methodizing tumult ? 

Alas. Have I done this ? 

Wal. How must it soothe thy father's hovering shade, 
To hear his name, so long to glory dear, 
Profaned and sullied in sedition's mouth, 
The countersign of turbulence and treason ? 

Alas. The proird repulse that suits a charge like this, 
Preferred by li.ps less reverenced, I forbear. 

Wal. Are you not stained 
With foul disloyalty — a blot indelible ? 
Have you not practised on the senseless rabble, 
Till disaffection breeds in every breast, 
And spawns rebellion ? 

Alas, No ! by heaven, not so ! 
With most unworthy patience have I borne 



440 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

My country's ruin — seen an ancient state 
Struck down by scepters — trampled on by kings, 
And fraud and rapine registered in blood, 
As Europe's public law, e'en on the authority 
Of thrones — this, have I seen — yes, like a slave, 
A. coward, have I seen what well might burst 
The patriot's heart, and from its scabbard force 
The feeblest sword that ever slumbered at 
A. courtier's side — yet have I never stirred 
My country — never roused her sons to vengeance, 
But rather used the sway their love allowed me, 
To calm the boiling tumult of their hearts, 
Which else had chafed and foamed to desperation. 

Hoh. The state is much beholden to Alasco ; 
And we, her humble instruments, must bow, 
And to his interference owe our safety. 

Alas. Tyrants, proud lord, are never safe, nor shoUd be; 
The ground is mined beneath them as they tread ; 
Haunted by plots, cabals, conspiracies, 
Their lives are long convulsions, and they shake, 
Surrounded by their guards and garrisons. 

Hoh. Your patriot care, sir, would redress all wrongs 
That spring from harsh restraints of law and justice. 
Your virtue prompts you to make war on tyrants, 
And like another Brutus free your country. 

Alas. Why, if there were some slanderous tool of state — - 
Some taunting, dull, unmannered deputy — 
Some district despot prompt to play the Tarquin, — 
By heaven ! I well could act the Roman part, 
And strike the brutal tyrant to the earth, 
Although he wore the mask of Hohendahl. 

Hoh. Ha ! darest thou thus provoke me, insolent ! (Draws.) 

Wal. (Advancing between them.) Rash boy, forbear ! My 
loxd, you are too hasty. 

Alas. This roof is your protection from my arm. 

Wal. Methinks, young man, a friend of mine might claim 
More reverence at your hands. 

Alas. Thy friend ! by heaven ! 
That sacred title might command my worship , 
But cover not with such a shield, his baseness • — 
His country's foe can be the friend of no man. 

Wal. Alasco, this is wild and mutinous ; 
An outrage, marking deep and settled spleen 
To just authority. 

Alas. Authority! 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 441 

Show me authority in honor's garb, 

And I will down upon the humblest knee 

That ever homage bent to sovereign sway : 

But shall I reverence pride, and hate, and rapine ? 

No. When oppression stains the robe of state, 

And power's a whip of scorpions in the hands, 

Of heartless knaves, to lash the o'erburthened back 

Of honest industry, the loyal blood 

Will turn to bitterest gall, and the o'ercharged heart 

Explode in execration. 

Hoh. [Going to the side scene.) My servants, there, 
Audacious railer ! thou provokest my wrath 
Beyond forbearance. (Two of the Baron's servants enter.) 

Seize the Count Alasco — 
I here proclaim him rebel to the state. 

Alas. (Drawing and putting himself on his defense.) Slaves! 
At your peril, venture on my sword ! 

Wal. My lord ! my lord ! this is my house — my castle ; 
You do not — cannot — mean this violation : 
Beneath the sanctuary of a soldier's roof, 
His direst foe is safe. 

Hoh. But not his sovereign's ; 
You would not screen a traitor from the law ! 

Wal. Nor yield a victim, sir, to angry power : 
He came in confidence, and shall depart 
In safety, — Here my honor guards him. 

Hoh. Ha ! 
Your loyalty, my friend, seems rather nice, 
And stands upon punctilio, 

Wal. Yes, the loyalty 
That is not nice, in honor and good faith, 
May serve the tool — the slave — the sycophant — 
But does not suit the soldier. 

Hoh. Colonel Walsingham, 
My station must prescribe my duty here : — (To the attendants.) 
Bear hence your prisoner, and await my orders. 

Wal. (Drawing and interposing.) Ha ! touch him, ruffians, 
on your lives ! By heaven ! 
This arm has not yet lost its vigor. Hence — 
Hence, miscreants, from my presence, lest my rage 
Forget that you are unworthy of my sword. 

(The Baron motions his attendants to retire.) 
My lord, this is an outrage on my honor — 
Alasco, like a father I have loved thee, 
And hoped a worn-out soldier might have found 



442 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Fit refuge, in the winter of his age, 

Beneath thy sheltering virtues ; but no more: 

I have now beheld thee attainted of a crime, 

Which blots thy fame and honor in my sight, 

Beyond the blackest hue of felon trespass. 

You've heard the charge, and as you may, must answer it. 

Alas, Had conscious wrong drawn down upon my head 
This solemn censure from a friend like thee, 
It had been death to hear it : But, thank heaven ! 
My soul in honor, as in duty clear, 
Indignant triumphs o'er unjust reproach, 
And holds her seat unshaken. For this lord — 
This minion of usurped authority, 
He knows I hold him less in fear than scorn, 
And when, and where he dares, will answer him. 



SELECTION XXIX. 

SALADIN MALEK ADHEL ATTENDANT. AnonymOUS. 

Attendant. A stranger craves admittance to your highness 

Saladin. Whence comes he ? 

Atten. That I know not — 
Enveloped in a vestment of strange form, 
His countenance is hidden, but his step, 
His lofty port, his voice in vain disguised, 
Proclaim^ — if that I dared pronounce it, — 

Sal Whom ? 

Atten. Thy royal brother. 

Sal. Bring him instantly. [Exit Attendant.) 
Now with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue, 
Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks 
To dissipate my anger — he shall die. 

[Enter Attendant, and Malek Adhel.) 

Sal. Leave us together. [Exit Attendant.) [Aside.) I should 
know that form. 
Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul, 
Nor, though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty. 
[Aloud.) Well, stranger, speak ; but first unveil thyself, 
For Saladin must view the form that fronts him 

Malek Adhel. Behold it, then ! 

Sal. I see a traitor's visage. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 443 

Mai. Ad. A brother's. 

Sal. No — 
Saladin owns no kindred with a villain. 

Mai. Ad. Oh, patience, heaven ! Had any tongue but thine 
Uttered that word, it ne'er should speak another. 

Sal. And why not now 1 Can this heart be more pierced 
By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds ? 
Oh, thou hast made a desert of this bosom ! 
For open candor, planted sly disguise ; 
For confidence, suspicion ; and the glow 
Of generous friendship, tenderness, and love, 
For ever banished. Whither can I turn, 
When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith, 
By every tie bound to support, forsakes me ? 
Who, who can stand, w r hen Malek Adhel falls ? 
Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love, 
The smiles of friendship — and this glorious world, 
In which all find some heart to rest upon, 
Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void — 
His brother has betrayed him ! 

Mai. Ad. Thou art softened ; 
I am thy brother then ; but late thou saidst — 
My tongue can never utter the base title. 

Sal. Was it traitor ? True — 
Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes. 
Villain ? 'Tis just ; the title is appropriate. 
Dissembler ? 'Tis not written in thy face ; 
No, nor imprinted on that specious brow, 
But on this breaking heart the name is stamped, 
For ever stamped, with that of Malek Adhel. 
Thinkest thou I'm softened 1 By Mohammed, these hands 
Should crush these aching eyeballs, ere a tear 
Fall from them at thy fate ! — Oh monster, monster ! 
The brute that tears the infant from its nurse 
Is excellent to thee, for in his form 
The impulse of his nature may be read, — 
But thou, so beautiful, so proud, so noble, 
Oh, what a wretch art thou ! Oh ! can a term 
In all the various tongues of man be found 
To match thy infamy 1 

Mai. Ad. Go on, go on ; 
'Tis but a little while to hear thee, Saladin, 
And, bursting at thy feet, this heart will proTO 
Its penitence at least. 

Sal. That were an end 



444 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Too noble for a traitor ; the bowstring is 
A more appropriate finish — thou shalt die ! 

Mai. Ad. And death were welcome at another's mandate ! 
What, what have I to live for ? Be it so, 
If that in all thy armies can be found 
An executing hand. 

Sal. Oh, doubt it not ! 
They're eager for the office. Perfidy, 
So black as thine, effaces from their minds 
All memory of thy former excellence. 

Mai. Ad. Defer not then their wishes. Saladin, 
If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight, 
This voice seemed grateful to thine ear, accede 
To my last prayer — Oh, lengthen not this scene, 
To which the agonies of death were pleasing — 
Let me die speedily. 

Sal. This very hour ! 
( Aside.) For oh ! the more I look upon that face, 
The more I hear the accents of that voice, 
The monarch softens, and the judge is lost 
In all the brother's weakness ; yet such guilt, 
Such vile ingratitude, it calls for vengeance, 
And vengeance it shall have ! What ho ! who waits there 1 

[Enter Attendant.) 

Atten. Did your highness call ? 

Sal. Assemble quickly 
My forces in the court ! — tell them they come 
To view the death of yonder bosom-traitor : 
And bid them mark, that he who will not spare 
His brother when he errs, expects obedience, 
Silent obedience from his followers. (Exit Attendant.) 

Mai Ad. Now, Saladin, 
The word is given — I have nothing more 
To fear from thee, my brother — I am not 
About to crave a miserable life — 
Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem, 
Life were a burthen to me : think not, either, 
The justice of thy sentence I would question : 
But one request now trembles on my tongue, 
One wish still clinging round the heart, which soon 
Not even that shall torture — will it then, 
Thinkest thou, thy slumbers render quieter, 
Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect, 
That when thy voice had doomed a brother's death, 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 445 

The last request which e'er was his to utter, 
Thy harshness made him carry to the grave ? 

Sal. Speak then ; but ask thyself if thou hast reason 
To look for much indulgence here. 

Mai. Ad. I have not ! 
Yet will I ask for it. We part for ever ; 
This is our last farewell ; the king is satisfied ; 
The judge has spoke the irrevocable sentence : 
None sees, none hears, save that omniscient power, 
Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon 
Two brothers part like such. — When in the face 
Of forces once my own, I'm led to death, 
Then be thine eye unmoistened ; let thy voice 
Then speak my doom untrembling; then, 
Unmoved behold this stiff and blackened corse. 
But now I ask — nay, turn not, Saladin — 
I ask one single pressure of thy hand, 
From that stern eye one solitary tear — 
Oh, torturing recollection ! one kind word 
From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but kindness. 
Still silent 1 Brother ! — friend — beloved companion 
Of all my youthful sports — are they forgotten 1 
Strike me with deafness, make me blind, Oh heaven ! 
Let me not see this unforgiving man 
Smile at my agonies — nor hear that voice 
Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word, 
One little word, w T hose cherished memory 
Would'soothe the struggles of departing life- 
Yet, yet thou wilt — Oh, turn thee Saladin ! 
Look on my face, thou canst not spurn me then ; 
Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel 
For the last time, and call him — 

Sal. [Seizing his hand.) Brother! brother! — 

Mai. Ad. [Breaking away.) Now call thy followers. 
Death has not now 
A. single pang in store. Proceed ! I'm ready. 

Sal. Oh, art thou ready to forgive, my brother, — 
To pardon him who found one single error, 
One little failing 'mid a splendid throng 
Of glorious qualities — 

Mai. Ad. Oh stay thee, Saladin ! 
I did not ask for life — I only wished 
To carry thy forgiveness to the grave. 
No, emperor, the loss of Cesarea 
Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhei 
38 



446 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Thy soldiers too, demand that he who lost 
What cost them many a weary hour to gain, 
Should expiate his offenses with his life. 
Lo, even now they crowd to view my death, 
Thy just impartiality. — I go — 
Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf 
To thy proud wreath of glory. (Going.) 

Sal. Thou shalt not. (Enter Attendant.) 

Atten. My lord, the troops assembled by your order 
Tumultuous throng the courts — the prince's death 
Not one of them but vows he will not suffer — 
The mutes have fled — the very guards rebel — 
Nor think I in this city's spacious round, 
Can e'er be found a hand to do the office. 

Mai. Ad. Oh, faithful friends ! (To Atten.) Thine sha T t. 

Atten. Mine ? — Never ! — 
The other first shall lop it from the body. 

Sal. They teach the emperor his duty well. 
Tell them he thanks them for it — tell them, too, 
That ere their opposition reached our ears, 
Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel. 

Atten. Oh joyful news ! 
I haste to gladden many a gallant heart, 
And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek 
Unused to such a visitor. (Exit.) 

Sal. These men, the meanest in society, 
The outcasts of the earth, — by war, by nature 
Hardened, and rendered callous — these, who claim 
No kindred with thee — who have never heard 
The accents of affection from thy lips — 
Oh, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance, 
Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives, 
To save thee from destruction. While I, 
I, who cannot in all my memory 
Call back one danger which thou hast not shared, 
One day of grief, one night of revelry, 
Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed, 
Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter ; 
I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field, 
When death seemed certain, only uttered — " Brother !** 
And seen that form like lightning rush between 
Saladin and his foes — and that brave breast 
Dauntless exposed to many a furious blow 
Intended for my own — I could forget 
That 'twas to thee I owed the very breath 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 

Which sentenced thee to perish. Oh, 'tis shameful ! 
Thou canst not pardon me. 

Mai. Ad. By these tears I can — 
Oh, brother ! from this very hour, a new, 
A glorious life commences — I am all thine. 
Again the day of gladness or of anguish 
Shall Malek Adhel share, and oft again 
May this sword fence thee in the bloody field. 
Henceforth, Saladin, 
My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine for ever. 



447 



SELECTION XXX. 

Isidore — ordonio. — Coleridge. 

(A dark cavern. Isidore alone; an extinguished torch in his hand.) 
Isidore. Faith, 'twas a moving message — very moving ! 

" His life in danger, — no place safe but this. 

'Twas now his turn to talk of gratitude." 

And yet — but no ! there can't be such a villain. 

It cannot be ! 

Thanks to that little crevice, 

Which lets the moonlight in ! I'll go and sit by it, 

To peep at a tree, or see a he-goat's beard, 

Or hear a cow or two breathe loud in their sleep ; 

Any thing but this crash of water-drops ! 

These dull abortive sounds, that fret the silence 

With puny thwartings, and mock opposition ! 

So beats the deathwatch to the sick man's ear. (He goes out 
of sight opposite to the moonlight, and returns in an ecstacy 
of fear.) 

A hellish pit ! the very same I dreamed of! 

I was just in — and those damned fingers of ice 

Which clutched my hair up ! — ha ! what's that ? it moved. 

(Isidore stands staring at another recess in the cavern ; in the 
meantime Ordonio enters with a torch and halloos to Isidore.) 
Isid. I swear that I saw something moving there ! 

The moonshine came and went like a flash of lightning — 

I swear I saw it move. 

Ordonio. ( Goes into the recess, then returns, and with great 
scorn.) A jutting clay-stone 

Drops on the long lank weed that grows beneath : 

And the weed nods and drips. 



449 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Isid. [Forcing a laugh faintly.) A jest to laugh at! 
It was not that which scared me, good my lord. 

Ord. What scared you, then ? 

Isid. You see that little rift ? 
But first permit me ! (Lights his torch at Ordonid's.) 
A lighted torch in the hand, 
Is no unpleasant object here — one's breath 
Floats round the flame, and makes as many colors, 
As the thin clouds that travel near the moon. 
You see that crevice there ? 
My torch extinguished by these water-drops, 
And marking that the moonlight came from thence, 
I stept into it, meaning to sit there ; 
But scarcely had I measured twenty paces — 
My body bending forward, yea, o'erbalanced 
Almost beyond recoil, on the dim brink 
Of a huge chasm 1 stept. The shadowy moonshine 
Filling the void, so counterfeited substance, 
That my foot hung aslant adown the edge. 
Was it my own fear 1 
Fear too hath its instincts ! 
And yet such dens as these are wildly told of, 
And there are beings that live, yet not for the eye. 
An arm of frost above and from behind me, 
Plucked up and snatched me backward. Merciful heaven ! 
You smile ! alas, even smiles look ghastly here ! 
My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it. 

Ord. It must have shot some pleasant feelings through yoi» 

Isid. If every atom of a dead man's flesh 
Should creep, each one with a particular life, 
Yet all as cold as ever — 'twas just so ! 
Or had it drizzled needled points of frost 
Upon a feverish head made suddenly bald— 

Ord. Why, Isidore, 
[ blush for thy cowardice. It might have startled, 
I grant you, even a brave man for a moment — 
But such a panic — 

Isid. When a boy, my lord, 
I could have sat whole hours beside that chasm, 
Pushed in huge stones and heard them strike and dash 
Against its horrid sides : then hung my head 
Low down, and listened till the heavy fragments 
Sank with faint crash in that still groaning well, 
Which never thirsty pilgrim blessed, which never 
k living thing came near — unless, perchance, 



DRAMATIC AND SEXTLUENTAL. 449 

Some blind worm battens on the ropy mold 
Close at its edge. 

Ord. Art thou more coward now ? 

Isid. Call him, that fears his fellow-man, a coward ! 
I fear not man — but this inhuman cavern, 
It were too bad a prison-house for goblins. 
Besides, you'll smile my lord, but true it is, 
My last night's sleep was very sorely haunted, 
By what passed between us in the morning. 
Oh sleep of horrors ! now run down and stared at 
By forms so hideous that they mock remembrance — 
Now seeing nothing and imagining nothing, 
But only being afraid — stifled with fear ! 
While every goodly or familiar form 
Had a strange power of breathing terror round me ! 
I saw you in a thousand fearful shapes ; 
And, I entreat your lordship to believe me, 
In my last dream — 

Ord. Well ? 

Isid. I was in the act 
Of falling down that chasm, when Alhadre 
Waked me : she heard my heart beat. 

Ord. Strange enough! 
Had you been here before 1 

Isid. Never, my lord ! 
But mine eyes do not see it now more clearly, 
Than in my dream I saw — that very chasm. 

Ord. (Stands lost in thought.) I know not why it should be! 
yet it is— 

Isid. What is, my lord 1 

Ord. Abhurrent from our nature, 
To kill a man. — 

Isid. Except in self-defense. 

Ord. Why that's my case ! and yet the soul recoils at it. — 
'Tis so with me, at least. But you, perhaps, 
Have s-erner feelings. 

Isid. Something troubles you. 
How shall I serve you ? By the life you gave me, 
By all that makes that life a value to me ; 
My wife, my babes, my honor, I swear to you, 
Name it, and I will toil to do the thing, 
If it be innocent ! But this, my lord, 
Is not a place where you could perpetrate, 
No, nor propose, a wicked thing ! The darkness, 
When ten strides off we know 'tis cheerful moonlight, 

£8* 



450 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Collects the guilt, and crowds it round the heart 
It must be innocent. 

Ord. Thyself be judge. 
One of our family knew this place well. 

Isid. Who ! — when ! — my lord ? 

Ord. What boots it who or when ? 
Hang up thy torch — I'll tell his tale to thee. 

( They hang up their torches) 
He was a man different from other men, 
And he despised them, yet revered himself. 

hid. He! he despised? — thou'rt speaking of thyself! 
I am on my guard, however : no surprise. (Aside.) 
What, he was mad 1 

Ord. All men seemed mad to him ! 
Nature had made him for some other planet, 
And pressed his soul into a human shape 
By accident or malice. In this world 
He found no fit companion. 

Isid. Of himself he speaks. (Aside.) 
Alas ! poor wretch ! 
Madmen are mostly proud. 

Ord. He walked alone, 
And phantom thoughts unsought for, troubled him. 
Something within w r ould still be shadowing out 
All possibilities ; and with these shadows 
His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happened, 
A fancy crossed him wilder than the rest : 
To this in moody murmur and low voice 
He yielded utterance, as some talk in sleep. 
The man who heard him — 
Why didst thou look round ? 

Isid. I have a prattler three years old, my lord ! 
In truth he is my darling. As I went 
From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep — 
But I am talking idly — pray proceed ! 
And what did this man 1 

Ord. With his human hand 
He gave a substance and reality 
To that wild fancy of a possible thing. — 
Well, it was done ! ( Very vrildly.) 
Why babblest thou of guilt 1 
The deed was done, and it passed fairly off. 
And he whose tale I tell thee — dost thou listen 1 

Isid. I would, my lord, you were by my fireside ; 
I'd listen to you with an ea^er eve. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 45* 

Though you began this cloudy tale at midnight. 
But I do listen — pray proceed, my lord. — 

Ord. Where was I ? 

Isid. He of whom you tell the tale — 

Ord. Surveying all things with a quiet scorn, 
Tamed himself down to living purposes, 
The occupations and the semblances 
Of ordinary men — and such he seemed ! 
But that same over-ready agent — he — 

Isid. Ah ! w 7 hat of him, my lord ? 

Ord. He proved a traitor, 
Betrayed the mystery to a brother traitor, 
And they between them hatched a damned plot 
To hunt him down to infamy and death. 
What did the Yaldes ? I am proud of the name 
Since he dared do it. — (Ordonio grasps his sword, and turns 
off from Isidore ; then after a pause returns.) 
Our links burn dimly. 

Isid, A dark tale darkly finished ! nay, my lord, 
Tell what he did. 

Ord. That which his wisdom prompted — 
He made the traitor meet him in this cavern 
And here he killed the traitor. 

Isid. No ! the fool ! 
He had not wit enough to be a traitor. 
Poor thick-eyed beetle ! not to have foreseen 
That he who gulled thee with a whimpered lie 
To murder his own brother, would not scruple 
To murder thee, if e'er his guilt grew jealous ; 
And he could steal upon thee in the dark ! 

Ord. Thou wouldst not then have come, if — 

Isid. Oh yes, my lord ! 
I would have met him armed, and scared the coward. (Isidore 

throws off his robe — shows himself armed, and draws his sword.) 

Ord. Now this is excellent and warms the blood ! 
My heart was drawing back ; drawing me back 
With weak and womanish scruples. Now my vengeance 
Beckons me onwards with a warrior's mien. 
And claims that life my pity robbed her of. 
Now will I kill thee, thankless slave, and count it 
Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter. 

Isid. And all my little ones fatherless ? 
Die thou first. ( They fight ; Ordonio disarms Isidore, and in 

disarming him throws his sword up that recess opposite to 

which they were standing. Isidore hurries int$ the recess 



452 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

with his torch ; Ordonio follows him; a loud cry of " traitor] 

monster /" is heard from the cavern, aud in a moment Ordonio 

returns alone.) 

Ord. I have hurled him down the chasm ! treason for treason. 
He dreamt of it ! Henceforward let him sleep — 
A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can wake him. 
His dream too, is made out. 



SELECTION XXXI. 

VIRGINIUS DENTATUS ICILIUS APPIUS TITUS SERVIUS- 

lucius — citizens. — Knowles. 

Virginius. Good day, Icilius. 

Icilius. Worthy Virginius ! 'tis an evil day 
For Rome ! Our new decemvirs 
Are any thing but friends to justice and 
Their country. 

Vir. You, Icilius, had a hand 
In their election. You applied to me 
To aid you with my vote, in the Comitia ; 
I told you then, and tell you now again, 
I am not pleased when a patrician bends 
His head to a plebeian's girdle ! Mark me ! 
I'd rather he should stand aloof, and wear 
His shoulder high — especially the nephew 
Of Caius Claudius. 

Icil. I would have pledged my life — 

Vir. 'Twas a high gage, and men have staked it higher, 
On grounds as poor as yours — their honor, boy ! 
Icilius, I have heard it all — your plans — 
The understanding 'twixt the heads of the people — 
Of whom, Icilius, you are reckoned one, and 
Worthily — and Appius Claudius — all — 
'Twas every jot disclosed to me. 

Icil. By whom ? 

Vir. Siccius Dentatus. 

Icil. He disclosed it to you ? 
Siccius Dentatus is a crabbed man ! 

Vir. Siccius Dentatus is an honest man ! 
There's not a worthier in Rome ! How now ? 
Has he deceived me \ Do you call him liar ? 
My friend ! my comrade ! honest Siccius, 
That has fought in six score battles 1 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 453 

Icil. Good Virginius, 
Siccius Dentatus is my friend — the friend 
Of every honest man in Rome — a brave man — 
A most brave man. Except yourself, Virginius, 
I do not know a man I prize above 
Siccius Dentatus — yet he's a crabbed man. 

Vir. Yes, yes ; he is a crabbed man. 

Icil. A man 
Who loves too much to wear a jealous eye. 

Vir. No, not a whit ! — where there is double dealing. 
You are the best judge of your own concerns ; 
Yet, if it please you to communicate 
With me upon this subject, come and see me. 
I told you, boy, I favored not this stealing 
And winding into place. What he deserves, 
An honest man dares challenge 'gainst the world— 
But come and see me. — Appius Claudius chosen 
Decemvir ! (A shout.) 

Icil. See, good Virginius, Appius comes ! 
The people still throng after him with shouts, 
Unwilling to believe their Jupiter 
Has marked them for his thunder. Will you stay, 
And see the homage that they render him ? 

Vir. Not I ! Stay you ; and, as you made him, hail him j 
And shout, and wave your hand, and cry, long live 
Our first and last decemvir, Appius Claudius ! 
For he is first and last, and every one ! 
Rome owes you much, Icilius — Fare you well — 
I shall be glad to see you at my house. (Exeunt.) 

(Enter Appius, Dentatus, Lucius, Titus, Servius, Marcus, and 
citizens shouting.) 

Titus. Long live our first decemvir ! 
Long live Appius Claudius ! 
Most noble Appius ! Appius and the decemvirate for ever ! 

(Citizens shout.) 

Appius. My countrymen, and fellow-citizens, 
We will deserve your favor. 

Tit. You have deserved it, 
And will deserve it. 

App. For that end we named 
Ours elf decemvir. 

Tit. You could not have named a better man. 

Dentatus. For his own purpose. (Aside.) 

App. Be assured, we hold 
Our power but for your good Your gift it was, 



4M UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

And gifts make surest debtors. Fare you well — 
And for your salutations, pardon me 
If I repay you only with an echo — 
Long live the worthy citizens of Rome ! 

(Exit Appius, and Marcus. The people shout.) 

Den. That was a pretty echo ! a most soft echo ! I never 
thought your voices were half so sweet ! a most melodious echo ! 
I'd have you ever after make your music before the patricians' 
palaces ; they give most exquisite responses ; — especially that 
of Appius Claudius ! a most delicate echo ! 

Tit. What means Dentatus 1 

Servius. He's ever carping — nothing pleases him. 

Den. Oh ! yes — you please me — please me mightily, — I as- 
sure you. You are noble legislators ; take most especial care 
of your own interests ; bestow your votes most wisely too — on 
him who has the wit to get you into the humor ; and withal, 
have most musical voices — most musical — if one may judge by 
their echo. 

Tit. Why, what quarrel have you with our choice ? Could 
we have chosen better 1 — I say there are ten honest decemvirs 
we have chosen. 

Den. I pray you name them me. 

Tit. There's Appius Claudius, first decemvir. 

Den. Ay, call him the head ; you are right. Appius Clau- 
dius, the head. Go on. 

Tit. And Quintus Fabius Vibulanus. 

Den. The body, that eats and drinks while the head thinks. 
Call him Appius's stomach. Fill him, and keep him from cold 
and indigestion, and he'll never give Appius the headache ! Well ! 
— There's excellent comfort in having a good stomach ! — Well ? 

Tit. There's Cornelius, Marcus Servilius, Minucius, and 
Titus Antonius. 

Den. Arms, legs, and thighs ! 

Tit. And Marcus Rabuleius. 

Den. He'll do for a hand, and, as he's a senator, we'll call 
him the right hand. We could'nt do less, you know, for a 
senator ! — Well ? 

Lucius. At least, you'll say we did well in electing Quintus 
Petilius, Caius Duellius, and Spurius Oppius, men of our order! 
sound men ! " known sticklers for the people" — at least, you'll 
say we did well in that ! 

Den. And who dares say otherwise ? " Well ?" one might 
as well say " ill" as " well." " Well" is the very skirt of com- 
mendation ; next neighbor to that mire and gutter, " ill." " Well," 
indeed ! you acted like yourselves ; Nay, even yourselves could 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 455 

not nave acted better ! Why, had you not elected them, Appius 
would have gone without his left hand, and each of his two feet. 

Ser. Out ! you are dishonest ! 

Den. Ha ! 

Ser. What would content you ! 

Den. A post in a hot battle ! Out, you cur ! Do you talk to me ? 

Citizen. (Fro?n behind.) Down with him ! he does nothing but 
insult the people. (The people approach Dentatus threateningly.) 
(Enter Icilius suddenly.) 

Icil. Stand back ! Who is it that says, down with Siccius 
Dentatus ? Down with him ! 'Tis what the enemy could never 
do ; and shall we do it for them ? Who uttered that dishonest 
word ? Who uttered it, I say ? Let him answer a fitter, though 
less worthy mate, Lucius Icilius ! 

Citizens. Stand back, and hear Icilius ! 

Icil. What ! hav'nt I voted for the decemvirs, and do I snarl 
at his jests ? Has he not a right to jest 1 the good, honest 
Siccius Dentatus, that, alone, at the head of the veterans, van- 
quished the iEqui for you. Has he not a right to jest ? For 
shame ! get to your houses ! The worthy Dentatus ! Cheer 
for him, if you are Romans ! Cheer for him before you go ! 
Cheer for him, I say. (Exeunt citizens, shouting.) 

Den. And now, what thanks do you expect from me, Icilius ? 

Icil. None. 

Den. By Jupiter, young man, had you thus stepped before 
me in the heat of battle, I would have cloven you down — but 
I'm obliged to you, Icilius — and hark you ! There's a piece of 
furniture in the house of a friend of mine, that's called Virgin- 
ius, I think you've set your heart upon — dainty enough — yet 
not amiss for a young man to covet. Ne'er lose your hopes ! 
He may be brought into the mind to part with it. As to these 
curs, I question which I value more, their fawnings or their 
snarlings. But I thank you, boy — Thanks, Icilius. 

Icil. Thanks — to me 1 No, Dentatus — Icilius is the debtor. 
So, a fair good-morrow, noble Roman. 

Den. Good-morrow, boy. (Exit Icilius.) Don't lose your 
hopes. (Enter Virginius.) Noble Virginius, I am glad to see you! 
This meeting's to my wish. I have news for you — brave news. 

Vir. Well, your news, Dentatus — is it of Rome ? 

Den. More violence and wrong from these new masters of 
ours, our noble decemvirs — these demi-gods of the good people 
of Rome ! No man's property is safe from them. The sena- 
tors themselves, scared at their audacious rule, withdraw them- 
selves to their villas, and leave us to our fate. 

Vir. Rome never saw such days ! 



456 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Den. And she'll see worse, unless I fail in my reckoning 
■ — But how is thy daughter — the fair Virginia 1 I was just 
wishing for a daughter. 

Vir. A plague, you mean. 

Den. I am sure you should not say so. 

Vir. Well — had you a daughter, what would you do with her ? 

Den. Do with her ? I'd give her to Icilius. I should have 
been just now torn to pieces, but for his good offices. The gentle 
citizens, that axe driven about by the decemvir's lictors like a 
herd of tame oxen, and with most beast-like docility, only low 
applauses to them in return, would have done me the kindness 
to knock my brains out ; but the noble Icilius bearded them 
singly, and railed them into temper. Had I a daughter worthy 
of such a husband, he should have such a wife, and a patrician's 
dower along with her. 

Vir. Dentatus, Icilius is a young man whom I honor, but 
he has had, as thou knowest, a principal hand in helping us to 
our decemvirs. It may be that he is what I would gladly 
think him ; but I must see him clearly — clearly, Dentatus. Ah ! 
(Looking off.) Here comes the youth — 'tis well ! 
(Enter Icilius.) 

Vir. Boy, Icilius ! 
Thou seest this hand ? It is a Roman's, boy ; 
'Tis sworn to liberty — It is the friend 
Of honor — Dost thou think so 1 

Icil. Do I think 
Virginius owns that hand ? 

Vir. Then you'll believe 
It has an oath deadly to tyranny, 
And is the foe of falsehood ! by the gods, 
Knew it the lurking-place of treason, though 
It were a brother's heart, 'twould drag the caitiff 
Forth. Darest thou take that hand I 

Icil. I dare, Virginius. 

Vir. Then take it ! is it weak in thy embrace ? 
Returns it not thy gripe ? Thou wilt not hold 
Faster by it, than it will hold by thee ! 
I overheard thee say, thou wast resolved 
To win my friendship quite. Thou canst not win 
What thou hast won already \ — 
And hark you, sir, 

At your convenient time, appoint a day 
Your friends and kinsmen may confer with me — 
There is a bargain I would strike with you. 
Come on, I say ; come on. Your hand, Dentatus. 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 457 

SELECTION XXXII. 

FRGCIDA MONTALBA GUIDO SICILIANS. — HemanS. 

Procida. Welcome ! my noble friends, we meet in joy ! 
Now may we bear ourselves erect, resuming 
The kingly port of freemen ! Who shall dare, 
After this proof of slavery's dread recoil, 
To weave us chains again? — Ye have done well. 

Montalba. We have done well. There needs no choral song, 
No shouting multitudes to blazon forth 
Our stern exploits. The silence of our foes 
Doth vouch enough, and they are laid to rest 
Deep as the sword could make it. Yet our task 
Is still but half achieved. Determined hearts, 
And deeds to startle earth, are yet required, 
To make the mighty sacrifice complete. 
Knowest thou that we have traitors in our councils ? 

Proc. I know some voice in secret must have warned 
De Couci. And if there be such things 
As may to death add sharpness, yet delay 
The pang which gives release ; if there be power 
In execration, to call down the fires 
Of yon avenging heaven, whose rapid shafts 
But for such guilt were aimless ; be they heaped 
Upon the traitor's head — Scorn make his name 
Her mark for ever ! 

Mont. In our passionate blindness, 
We send forth curses, whose deep stings recoil 
Oft on ourselves. 

Proc. Whatever fate hath of ruin 
Fall on his house ! — What ! to resign again 
That freedom for whose sake our souls have now 
Engrained themselves in blood !— Why, who is he 
That hath devised this treachery ? 
Who should be so vile ? — 
Alberti ? — In his eye is that which ever 
Shrinks from encountering mine ? — But no ! his race 
Is of our noblest ! — Urbino ? — Conti ? — No ! 
They are too deeply pledged. — There is one name more ! 
I cannot utter it ! Speak your thoughts. 
Montalba ! Guido ! — Who should this man be ? 

Mont. Why what Sicilian youth unsheathed, last night, 
His sword to aid our foes, and turned its edge 

39 



458 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Against his country's chiefs 1 — He that did this, 
May well be deemed for guiltier treason ripe. 

Proc. And who is he 1 

Mont. Nay, ask thy son. 

Proc. My son ! 
What should he know of such a recreant heart ? 
Speak, Guido ! Thou art his friend ! 

Guido. I would not wear 
The brand of such a name ! 
Who but he 

Could warn De Couci, or devise the guilt 
These scrolls reveal 1 [Showing papers.) Hath not the traitor still 
Sought, with his fair and specious eloquence, 
To win us from our purpose 1 All things seem 
Leagued to unmask him. 

Proc. There was one 
Who mourned for being childless ! — Let him now 
Feast o'er his children's graves, and I will join 
The revelry ! 

Mont. (Aside.) You shall be childless too ! 

Proc. Was it you, Montalba ? — Now rejoice ! I say 
There is no name so near you that its stains 
Should call the fevered and indignant blood 
To your dark cheek ! — But I will dash to earth 
The weight that presses on my heart, and then 
Be glad as thou art. 

Mont. What means this, my lord ? 
Who hath seen gladness on Montalba's mien ? 

Proc. Why, should not all be glad who have no sons 
To tarnish their bright name ? 

Mont. I am not used 
To bear with mockery. 

Proc. Friend ! By yon high heaven, 
I mock thee not ! — 'tis a proud fate, to live 
Alone and unallied. 
Oh ! I could laugh to think 
Of the joy that riots in baronial halls, 
When the word comes — " A son is born !" — A son ! 
They should say thus — " He that shall knit your brow 
To furrows, not of years ; and bid your eye 
Quail its proud glance ; to tell the earth its shame,— 
Is born, and so, rejoice !" — Then might we feast, 
And know the cause : — Were it not excellent 1 

Mont. This is all idle. There are deeds to do * 
Arouse thee, Procida 1 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 459 

Proc. Why, am I not 
Calm as immortal justice ? — She can strike, 
And yet be passionless — and thus will I. 
I know thy meaning. — Deeds to do ! — 'tis well. 
They shall be done ere thought on. — Go ye forth ; 
There is a youth who calls himself my son, 
His name is — Raimond — in his eye is light 
That shows like truth — but be ye not deceived ! 
Bear him in chains before us. We will sit 
To-day in judgment, and the skies shall see 
The strength which girds our nature. — Will not this 
Be glorious, brave Montalba ?— Linger not, 
Ye tardy messengers ! for there are things 
Which ask the speed of storms. (Exeunt all but Montalba,) 

Mont. Now this is well ! 
i hate this Procida ; for he hath won 
In all our councils that ascendancy 
And mastery over bold hearts, which should have been 
Mine by a thousand claims. — Had he the strength 
Of wrongs like mine ?- — No ! for that name — his country — 
He strikes — my vengeance hath a deeper fount : 
But there's dark joy in this ! — and fate hath barred 
My soul from every other. 

Scene 2. — Hall of a Public building. — Procida, Montalba, 
Guido and others, seated as on a tribunal, 

Procida. The morn lowered darkly, but the sun hath now 
With fierce and angry splendor, through the clouds 
Burst forth, as if impatient to behold 
This, our high triumph.— Lead the prisoner in. 

(Raimond is brought in fettered and guarded.) 
Wny, what a bright and fearless brow is here ! 
[s this man guilty ? — look on him, Montalba ! 

Montalba. Be firm. Should justice falter at a look ? 

Proc. No, thou sayest well. Her eyes are filleted, 
Or should be so. Thou that dost call thyself— 
But no ! I will not breathe a traitor's name — 
Speak ! thou art arraigned of treason. 

Raimond. I arraign 
You, oefore whom I stand, of darker guilt, 
In the bright face of heaven ; and your own hearts 
Give echo to the charge. Your very looks 
Have taken the stamp of crime, and seem to shrink 
With a perturbed and haggard wildness, back 
From ihe too-searching light. — Why, what hath wrought 



4G0 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

This change on noble brows ? There is a voice, 
With a deep answer, rising from the blood 
Your hands have coldly shed ! Ye are of those 
From whom just men recoil, with curdling veins, 
All thrilled by life's abhorrent consciousness, 
And sensitive feeling of a murderer's presence. 
Away ! come down from your tribunal seat, 
Put off your robes of state, and let your mien 
Be pale and humbled ; for ye bear about you 
That which repugnant earth doth sicken at, 
More than the pestilence. — That I should live 
To see my father shrink ! 

Proc. Montalba, speak! 
There's something chokes my voice — but fear me not 

Mont. If we must plead to vindicate our acts, 
Be it when thou hast made thine own look clear ! 
Most eloquent youth ! What answer canst thou make 
To this our charge of treason ? 

Rai. I will plead 
That cause before a mightier judgment-throne, 
Where mercy is not guilt. But here, I feel 
Too buoyantly the glory and the joy 
Of my free spirit's whiteness : for even now 
The embodied hideousness of crime doth seem 
Before me glaring out. — Why, I saw thee, 
Thy foot upon an aged warrior's breast, 
Trampling out nature's last convulsive heavings. 
And thou — thy sword-— Oh, valiant chief! — is yet 
Red from the noble stroke which pierced, at once, 
A mother and the babe, whose little life 
Was from her bosom drawn ! — Immortal deeds 
For bards to hymn ! 

Guido. [Aside.) I look upon his mien, 
And waver. — Can it be ? — My boyish heart 
Deemed him so noble once ! Away, m eak thoughts ! 
Why should I shrink, as if the guilt were mine, 
From his proud glance ? 

Proc. Oh, thou dissembler ! — thou, 
So skilled to clothe with virtue's generous flush 
The hollow cheek of cold hypocrisy, 
That, with thy guilt made manifest, I can scarce 
Believe thee guilty ! — look on me, and say 
Whose was the secret warning voice, that saved 
De Couci, with his bands, to join our foes, 
And forge new fetters for the indignant land 1 



DRAMATIC AND SENTIMENTAL. 46J 

Whose was this treachery? (Shows him papers.) 

Who hath done this, 

But thou, a tyrant's friend ? 

Rai. Who hath done this ? 
Father ! — if I may call thee by that name — 
Look, with thy piercing eye, on those whose smiles 
Were masks that hid their daggers. There, perchance, 
May lurk what loves not light too strong. For me, 
I know but this — there needs no deep research 
To prove the truth — that murderers may be traitors, 
Even to each other. 

Proc. (To Montalba.) His unaltering cheek 
Still vividly doth hold its natural hue, 
And his eye quails not ! — Is this innocence ? 

Mont. No ! 'tis the unshrinking hardihood of crim6 
Thou bearest a gallant mien !- — But where is she 
Whom thou hast bartered fame and life to save, 
The fair provencal maid ? — What ! knowest thou not 
That this alone were guilt, to death allied ? 
Was it not our law, that he who spared a foe, — 
And is she not of that detested race ? — 
Should henceforth be among us as a foe ? 
Where hast thou borne her 1 — Speak ! 

Rai. That heaven, whose eye 
Burns up thy soul with its far-searching glance, 
Is with her ; she is safe. 

Proc. And by that word 
Thy doom is sealed. — Oh God ! that I had died 
Before this bitter hour, in the full strength 
And glory of my heart ! 

Rai. The pang is over, 
And I have but to die. 

Mont. Now, Procida, 
Comes thy great task. Wake ! summon to thine aid 
All thy deep soul's commanding energies ; 
For thou, a chief among us, must pronounce — 
The sentence of thy son. It rests with thee. 

Pro. Ha ! ha ! — Men's hearts should be of softer mold 
Than in the elder time. Fathers could doom 
Their children then with an unfaltering voice, 
And we must tremble thus ! Is it not said, 
That nature grows degenerate, earth being now 
So full of days ? 

Mont. Rouse up thy mighty heart, 

39* 



462 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Proc. Ay, thou sayest right. There yet are souls which tower 
As landmarks to mankind. — Well, what's the task ? 
There is a man to be condemned, you say ? 
Is he then guilty 1 

All. Thus we deem of him 
With one accord. 

Proc. And hath he nought to plead ? 

RaL Nought but a soul unstained. 

Proc. Why, that is little. 
Stains on the soul are but as conscience deems them, 
And conscience may be seared. — But, for this sentence ! 
Was it not the penalty imposed on man, 
Even from creation's dawn, that he must die ? 
It was : thus making guilt a sacrifice 
Unto eternal justice ; and we but 
Obey heaven's mandate when we cast dark souls 
To the elements from amongst us. — Be it so ! 
Such be his doom ! — I have said. Ay, now my heart 
Is girt with adamant, whose cold weight doth press 
Its gaspings down. Off! let me breathe in freedom! 
Mountains are on my breast ! (He sinks back.) 

Mont. Guards, bear the prisoner 
Back to his dungeon. 

Rai. Father ! oh, look up ! 
Thou art my father still ! 

Guido. Oh ! Raimond, Raimond ! 
If it should be that I have wronged thee, say 
Thou dost forgive me. 

Rai. Friend of my young days, 
So may all-pitying heaven ! [Raimond i* fee! out.) 

Proc. Whose voice was that ? 
Where is he ? — gone ? — now I breathe once more 
In the free air of heaven. Let us away. 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 



SELECTION I. 

HOT COCKLES. HENRY CHARLES. AnonymOUS. 

Charles. Brother, all our friends have left us, and yet I am 
still in a playing humor. What game shall we choose 1 

Henry. There are only two of us, and I am afraid we 
should not be much diverted. 

Char. Let us play at something, however. 

Hen. But at what ? 

Char. At blindman's-bufT, for instance. 

Hen. That is a game that would never end. It would not 
be as if there were a dozen, of which number some are gener- 
ally off their guard ; but where there are only two, I should 
not find it difficult to shun you, or you me ; and then when we 
had caught each other, we should know for certain who it was. 

Char. That is true, indeed. Well, then, what think you 
of hot cockles ? 

Hen. That would be the same, you know. W r e could no* 
possibly guess wrong. 

Char. Perhaps we might. However, let us try. 

Hen. With all my heart, if it please you. Look here, if 
you like it, I will be Hot Cockles first. 

Char. Do, brother. Put your right hand on the bottom of 
this chair. Now stoop down and lay your face close upon it, 
that you may not see. [He does so.) That is well ; — and now 
your left hand on your back. Well master — but I hope youi 
eyes are shut. [Carefully looking round to see.) 

Hen. Yes yes ; do not be afraid. 

Char. Well, master, what have you to sell 1 

Hen. Hot cockles ! hot ! 

Char. (Slapping him v:ith his left hand.) Who struck? 

Hen. (Getting up.) Why, you, you little goose ' 

Char. Yes, yes ; but with which hand ? 

Hen. The — the right. 

Char. No, it was the left. Now you are the goose- 



4f)4 UNITED STATES fcPEAKEB, 

SELECTION II. 

HOW TO TELL BAD NEWS. MR. H. STEWARD. AnOliymOUS 

Mr. H. Ha ! Steward, how are you my old boy ? How do 
hings go on at home ? 

Steward. Bad enough, your honor ; the magpie's dead. 

Mr. H. Poor mag ! so he's gone. How came he to die ? 

Stew. Over-ate himself, sir. 

Mr. H. Did he, faith ? a greedy dog ; why, what did he 
get he liked so well ? 

Stew. Horse-flesh, sir ; he died of eating horse-flesh. 

Mr. H. How came he to get so much horse-flesh 1 

Stew. All your father's horses, sir. 

Mr. H. What ! are they dead, too ? 

Stew. Ay, sir ; they died of over-work. 

Mr. H. And why were they over-worked, pray 1 

Stew. To carry water, sir. 

Mr. H. To carry water ! and what were they carrying 
water for ? 

Stew. Sure sir, to put out the fire. 

Mr. H. Fire ! what fire ? 

Stew. Oh, sir, your father's house is burned down to the 
ground. 

Mr. H. My father's house burned down ! and how came it 
set on fire 1 

Stew. I think, sir, it must have been the torches. 

Mr. H. Torches ! what torches ? 

Stew. At your mother's funeral. 

Mr. H. My mother dead ! 

Stew. Ah, poor lady, she never looked up after it. 

Mr. H. After what 1 

Stew. The loss of your father. 

Mr. H. My father gone too ? 

Stew. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as 
he heard of it. 

Mr. H. Heard of what ? 

Stew. The bad news, sir, and please your honor. 

Mr. H. What ! more miseries ! more bad news ? 

Stew. Yes sir, your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, 
and you are not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, 
sir, to come to wait on you about it, for I thought you would 
like to hear the news. 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 46 £> 

SELECTION III. 
lo v e g o l d — jam e s . — Fielding. 

Lovegold. Where have you been ? I have w A,nted you above 
an hour. 

James. Whom do you want, sir, — your coachman or your 
cook ? for I am both one and t'other. 

Love. I want my cook. 

James. I thought, indeed, it was not your coachman , for 
you have had no great occasion for him since your last pair of 
horses were starved ; but your cook, sir, shall wait upon you in 
an instant. (Puts off his coachman's great-coat and* appears as 
a cook.) Now, sir, I am ready for your commands. 

Love. I am engaged this evening to give a supper. 

James. A supper, sir ! I have not heard the word this half 
year ; a dinner, indeed, now and then ; but for a supper, I'm 
almost afraid, for want of practice, my hand is out. 

Love. Leave off your saucy jesting, and see that you pro- 
vide a good supper. 

James. That may be done with a good deal of money, sir. 

Love. Is the mischief in you ? Always money ! Can you 
say nothing else but money, money, money ? My children, my 
servants, my relations, can pronounce nothing but money. 

James. Well, sir ; but how many will there be at table ? 

Love. About eight or ten ; but I will have a supper dressed 
but for eight ; for if there be enough for eight, there is enough 
for ten. 

James. Suppose, sir, at one end, a handsome soup ; at the 
other, a fine Westphalia ham and chickens ; on one side, a fil- 
let of veal ; on the other, a turkey, or rather a bustard, which 
may be had for about a guinea — 

Love. Zounds ! is the fellow providing an entertainment for 
my lord-mayor and the court of aldermen ? 

James. Then a ragout — 

Love. I'll have no ragout. Would you burst the good peo* 
pie, you dog ? 

James. Then pray, sir, say what you will have ? 

Love. Why, see and provide something to cloy their stom- 
achs : let there be two good dishes of soup — maigre ; a large 
suet-pudding ; some dainty fat pork-pie, very fat ; a fine small 
lean breast of mutton, and a large dish with two artichokes. 
There ; that's plenty and variety. 

James. Oh, dear— 



i66 UNITED STATES SPEAK! R. 

Love. Plenty and variety. 

James. But, sir, you must have some poultry. 

Love. No ; I'll have none. 

James. Indeed sir, you should. 

Love. Well, then, — kill the old hen, for she has done laying. 

James. Mercy ! sir, how the folks will talk of it ; indeed, 
people say enough of you already. 

Love. Eh! why what do the people say, pray? 

James. * Ah, sir, if I could be assured you would not be angry. 

Love. Not at all ; for I'm always glad to hear what the 
world says of me. 

James. Why, sir, since you will have it then, they make a 
jest of you every where ; nay, of your servants, on your ac- 
count. One says, you pick a quarrel with them quarterly, in 
order to find an excuse to pay them no wages. 

Love. Poh! poh! 

James. Another says, you were taken one night stealing 
your own oats from your own horses. 

Love. That must be a lie ; for I never allow them any. 

James. In a word, you are the by-word every where ; and 
you are never mentioned, but by the names of covetous, stingy, 
scraping, old — 

Love. Get along, you impudent villain ! 

James. Nay, sir, you said you wouldn't be angry. 

Love. Get out, you dog ! you— 



SELECTION IV. 

A.LDERMAN SMUGGLER SIR HARRY WILDAIR JOHN. AnOfiy 

mous. 

Sir Harry. Dear Mr. Alderman, I'm your most devoted and 
humble servant. 

Alderman Smuggler. My best friend, Sir Harry, you're 
welcome to England. 

Sir H. Ill assure you, sir, there's not a man in the king's 
dominions I am gladder to meet, dear, dear Mr. Alderman 
(Bowing very low.) 

Aid. S. Oh ! my good sir, you travelers have the kindest, 
the most obliging ways with you. 

Sir H. There is a business, Mr. Alderman, fallen out, 
which you may oblige me infinitely by — I am very sorry that 
I am forced to be troublesome ; but necessity, Mr. Alderman — ■ 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 467 

Aid. S. Ay, sir, as you say, necessity — But upon my word, 
dear sir, I am very short of money at present, but — 

Sir H. That's not the matter, sir ; I'm above an obligation 
that way ; but the business is, I'm reduced to an indispensable 
necessity of being obliged to you for a beating. Here, take 
this cane. 

Aid. S. A beating, Sir Harry ! ha, ha, ha ! I beat a knight 
baronet ! An alderman turned cudgel-player ! ha, ha, ha ! 

Sir H. Upon my word, sir, you must beat me, or I'll beat 
you ; take your choice. 

Aid. S. Psha ! psha ! you jest. 

Sir H. Nay, 'tis sure as fate ; so my dear, dear Mr. Alder- 
man, 1 hope you'll pardon my curiosity. (Strikes him.) 

Aid. S. Curiosity ! Deuce take your curiosity, sir. What 
d'ye mean ? 

Sir H. Nothing at all. I'm but in jest, good sir. 

Aid. S. Oh ! I can take any thing in jest ; but a man 
might imagine, by the smartness of the stroke, that you wera 
in downright earnest. 

Sir H. Not in the least, sir ; (Strikes hi?n.) not in the least, 
indeed, dear sir. 

Aid. S. Pray, good sir, no more of your jests ; for they ara 
the bluntest jests that I ever knew. 

Sir H. (Strikes him.) I heartily beg your pardon, with all 
my heart, sir. 

Aid. S. Pardon, sir ! well sir, that is satisfaction enough 
from a gentleman : but seriously now, Sir Harry, if you pass 
any more of your jests upon me, I shall grow angry. 

Sir H. I humbly beg your permission to break one or two 
more. (Srikes him.) 

Aid. S. Oh ! oh ! sir, youll certainly break my bones. 
Are you mad, sir 1 John ! John ! murder, felony, manslaughter, 
murder ! (Runs about.) 

Sir H. Sir, I beg you ten thousand pardons ; but I am ab- 
solutely compelled to it, upon my honor, sir ; nothing can be 
more averse to my inclination, than to jest with my honest, dear, 
loving, obliging friend, the alderman. (Striking him all the 
time.) (Enter John.) 

John. Oh ! goodness ! Sir Harry's murdering the poor old 
man. 

Aid. S. Oh ! John, oh ! John, I have been beaten in jest, 
till I am almost murdered in good earnest. 

John. Oh ! for charity's sake, Sir Harry, remember what 
you are doing — forbear sir* ox I'll raise the neighborhood. 



438 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

(Aside.) Though, to tell the truth, the old rogue richly deserves 
it, and for my part I enjoy the joke. {Sir H. takes snuff.) 

Aid. S. Now, sir, I will have amends, sir, before I leave 
the place, sir ; how durst you use me thus ? 

SirH. Sir? 

Aid. S. Sir, I say that I will have satisfaction. 

Sir H. Oh ! sir, with all my heart. ( Throws snuff in his 
eyes.) 

Aid. S. Oh ! murder, blindness, fire ! oh ! John, John ! get 
me some water ! water, fire, water ! {Exit with John.) 

Sir H. How pleasant is resenting an injury without pas- 
sion ' 'tis the beauty of revenge. 

Let statesmen plot, and under business groan, 
And, settling public quiet, lose their own; 
I make the most of life, — no hour misspend, 
Pleasure's the mean, and pleasure is my end. 
No spleen, no trouble, shall my time destroy; 
Life's but a span, I'll everv inch enjoy. 



SELECTION V. 

IRISH COURTESY. STRANGER — o'cALLAGHAN. Sedley. 

Stranger. I have lost my way, good friend ; can you assist 
me in finding it ? 

O' Callaghan. Assist you in finding it, sir ? ay, by my faith and 
troth, and that I will, if it was to the world's end and further too. 

Str. I wish to return by the shortest route to the Black Rock. 

O'Cal. Indade, and you will, so plase your honor's honor — 
and O'Callaghan's own self shall show you the way, and then 
you can't miss it, you know. 

Str. I would not give you so much trouble, Mr. O'Callaghan. 

O'Cal. It is never a trouble, so plase your honor, for an 
Irishman to do his duty. {Bowing.) 

Str. Whither do you travel, friend ? 

O'Cal. To Dublin, so plase your honor — sure all the world 
knows that Judy O'Flannaghan will be married to-morrow, God 
willing, to Pat Ryan ; and Pat, you know, is my own foster- 
brother, — because why, we had but one nurse betwane us, and 
that was my own mother — but she died one day, the Lord rest 
her swate soul ! and left me an orphan, for my father married 
again, and his new wife was the devil's own child, and did noth- 
ing but bate me from morning till night — Och, why did I not 
die before I was born to see that day, for, by St. Patrick, the 
woman's heart was as cold as a hailstone. 



HUMOROUS* AND DIVERTING. 463 

Str. But what reason could she have for treating you so 
unmercifully, Mr. O'Callaghan 1 

O'Cal. Ah, your honor, and sure enough there are always 
rasons as plenty as pratees for being hardhearted. And I was 
no bigger than a dumpling at the time, so I coiJd not help 
myself, and my father did not care to help me, and so I hopped 
the twig, and parted old Nick's darling ; och, may the devil find 
her wherever she goes. — But here 1 am alive and lapeing, and 
going to see Pat married ; and faith, to do him justice, he's as 
honest a lad as any within ten miles of us, and no disparage, 
ment neither, — and I love Pat, and I love ail his family, ay, by my 
shoul do I, every mother's skin of them — and by the same token, 
I have traveled many a long mile to be present at his wedding. 

Str. Your miles in Ireland are much longer than ours, I 
believe. 

CCal. Indade, and you may belave that, your honor, be- 
cause why, St. Patrick measured them in his coach, you know. 
Och, by the powers ! — the time has been — but, 'tis no matter, not 
a single copper at all at all now belongs to the family — but as I 
was saying, the day has been, ay, by my troth and the night toa, 
when the O'Callaghans, good luck to them, held their heads up 
as high as the best ; and though I have not a rod of land be- 
longing to me, but what I hire, I love my country, and would 
halve my last pratee with every poor creature that has none. 

Str. Pray how does the bride appear, Mr. O'Callaghan ? 

O'Cal. Och, by my shoul, your honor, she's a nate article— 
and then shs will be rigged out as gay as a lark and as fine as 
a peacock ; because why, she has a great lady for her godmother, 
long life and success to her, who has given Judy two milch 
cows, and five pounds in hard money — and Pat has taken as 
dacent apartments as any in Dublin — a nate comely parlor as 
you'd wish to see, just six fate under ground, with a nice beau- 
tiful ladder to go down — and all so complate and gentale, and 
comfortable as a body may say — 

Str. Nothing like comfort, Mr. O'Callaghan. 

O'Cal. Faith, and you may say that, your honor. (Rubbing 
his hands.) Comfort is comfort, says I to Mrs. O'Callaghan, 
when we are all sated so cleverly around a great big turf fire, 
a3 merry as grigs, with, the dear little grunters snoring so 
s watery in the corner, defying wind and weather, with a dry 
thatch, and a sound conscience to go to slape upon — ■ 

Str. A good conscience makes a soft pillow. 

O'Cal. Och, jewel, sure it is not the best beds that make 
the best slapers ; for there's Kathleen and myself can slape like 

40 



470 CNIlJJD STATES SPEAKER. 

two great big tops, and our bed is none of the softest — because 
why, we slape on the ground, and have no bed at all at all. 

Str. It is a pity, my honest fellow, that you should ever 
want one. There — {Giving him a guinea.) — Good by, Mr. 
O'Callaghan. 

O'Cal. I'll drink your honor's health, that I will — and may 
God and the blessed Virgin bless you and yours, as long as 
grass grows and water runs. 



SELECTION VI. 
robin — snacks — servant. — Allingham. 

(A table with decanters and glasses.) 

Robin. Well, Snacks, this is very good stuff, I don't kmw 
as ever I drank any before ; what do you call this, Snacks ? 

Snacks. Red port wine ; an it please your lordship. 

Rob. Yes, red port wine pleases his lordship. — I wonder 
where this comes from. — Oh ! from the Red Sea, I suppose. 

Snacks. No, my lord ; there's plenty of spirits there, but not 
wine, I believe. 

Rob. Well, one more thing full ; only one, because you 
know, now I am a lord, I must not make a beast of myself ; — 
that's not like a nobleman, you know. 

Snacks. Your lordship must do as your lordship pleases. 

Rob. Must I ? then give us t'other sup. 

Snacks. I think his lordship is getting rather forward.— 
I'll bring my daughter upon the carpet presently. (Aside.) 
(Enter Servant.) 

Serv. Please you, master Snacks, here's John the carter 
says he's so lame he can't walk, and he hopes you'll let him 
have the pony, to-morrow, to ride by the wagon. 

Snacks. Can't walk, can't he ? — lame is he 1 

Serv. Yes, sir. 

Snacks. And what does he mean by being lame at this 
busy time ? — tell him he must walk ; it's my will. 

Rob. (Aside to Servant.) You, sir, bring me John's whip, 
will you 1 — (Exit Servant.) — That's right, Snacks; the lazy fel- 
low, what business has he to be lame ! 

Snacks. Oh, please your lordship, it's as much as I can do 
to keep these fellows in order. 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 471 

Rob. Oh, they are sad dogs — not walk, indeed ! I never 
heard of such impudence. 

Snacks. Oh, shameful, shameful ! if I were behind him, I'd 
make him walk. 

(Enter Servant with a whip which he gives to Robin.) 

Rob. Come, Snacks, dance me a hornpipe. 

Snacks. What ? 

Rob. A hornpipe. 

Snacks. A hornpipe ! — I can't dance, my lord. 

Rob. Come, none of your nonsense ; I know you can dance ; 
why, you was made for dancing — there's a leg and foot. — Come, 
begin ! 

Snacks. Here's no music. 

Rob. Isn't there? then I'll soon make some. — Look ye, 
here's my fiddlestick ; how d'ye like it ? — Come, Snacks, you 
must dance ; it's my will. 

Snacks. Indeed I'm not able. 

Rob. Not able ! Oh, shameful, shameful ! Come, come, you 
must dance ; it's my will. ( Whips him.) 

Snacks. Must 1 1 — Then here goes. — (Hops about.) 

Rob. What, do you call that dancing fit for a lord ? Come 
quicker, quicker. — (Whips Snacks round the stage, who roars 
out.) — There, that will do ; now go and order John the carter 
the pony — will you ? 

Snacks. What a cunning dog it is ! — he's up to me now, 
but I think I shall be down upon him by and by. (Aside, exit.) 

Rob. Ha, ha, ha ! how he hopped about and hallooed — but 
I'll work him a little more yet. (Re-enter Snacks.) Well, 
Snacks, what d'ye think of your dancing-master ? 

Snacks. I hope your lordship won't give me any more les- 
sons at present ; for, to say the truth, I don't much like the ac- 
companiment. 

Rob. You must have a lesson every day, or you'll forget 
the step. 

Snacks. No ; — your lordship has taken care that 1 shan't 
forget it for some time. 

Rob. I can't think where Dolly is ; I told her to come to me 

Snacks. My daughter's very beautiful. 

Rob. Why, you talk a great deal about your daughter, and 
['11 have a peep at her. I wish Dolly would come. 

Snacks. Oh, don't think of her. 

Rob. Not think of her ! why, pray ? 

Snacks. Oh, she's too low for your lordship. 

Rob. Take care, Snacks, or I shall make you dance anothei 
hornpipe. Too low ' whv what was T just now ? If I though 



472 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

riches would make me such a rascal as to use the poor girl ill, 
— a fig for 'em all ; I'd give 'em up, and be plain Robin, honest 
Robin, again. 



SELECTION VII. 

MORDENT CHEVERIL. HolcToft. 

Cheveril. Grumble no more, guardy! Have done with 
prognosticating evil. Tis all in vain : your gloomy reign is 
ended : I am of age ! — 

Mordent. To play the fool. 

Chev. I'm free ! I'm alive ! I'm beginning to exist ! — 

Mor. Like a wretch at the stake, when the flames first reach 
him! 

Chev. The whole world is before me ; its pleasures are 
spread out, and I long to fall on. The golden apples of delight 
hang inviting me to pluck, eat, and — 

Mor. Be poisoned. 

Chev. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Mor. As your guardian, I — 

Chev. Hang guardianship ! I have been guarded too long. 
Years out of number have I been fed with lean Latin, crabbed 
Greek, and an abominable olio of the four faculties : served up 
with the jargon of Aristotle, the quirks of Thomas Aquinas, and 
the quibbles and quodlibets of Doctor Duns Scotus — 

Mor. Take warning — 

Chev. Fined for Horace ; horsed for Homer ; and plucked 
because I could not parrot over their premises and predicates, 
majors and minors, antecedents and consequents. My brain 
was a broker's shop ; the little good furniture it contained all 
hid by lumber. 

Mor. Let me tell you, young sir — 

Chev. Not now : your day is done, i am my own man ! 
x breathe ! I am abroad ! I am on the wing to visit the regions 
of fruition and Paradise ; to banquet with the gods, and sip am- 
brosia from the lips of Venus and Hebe, the loves, and the 
graces ! 

Mor. You are a lunatic ! 

Chev. No ; I am just come to my senses — for I am jus> 
come to my estate. High health, high spirits, eight thousand 
& year, and one-and-twenty. 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 473 

Mor. Youth ! riches ! poor idiot ! Health, too ! What is 
man but a walking hospital ? You, boy ! you, little as you sus- 
pect it, include within yourself a whole pharmacopaeia of malady 
and mischief 

Chev. Zounds ! he'll persuade me presently I am Pandora's 
box! 

Mor. So you are. 

Chev. Why, guardy, you are mad ! 

Mor. True, or I should take the shortest way to get rid of 
misery, and instantly go hang myself. 

Chev. What a picture ! 

Mor. Equal it in accuracy if you can. 

Chev. Why, I am but a young artist ; however, I can dash 
my brush at the canvas as daringly as you have done. So, 
what think you of mirth, songs, and smiles ; youth, beauty, and 
kisses ; friendship, liberty, and love ; with a large capacious 
soul of benevolence, that can soothe the afflicted, succor the 
poor, heal the sick, instruct the ignorant, honor the wise, re- 
form the bad, adore the good, and hug genius and virtue to the 
heart? 

Mor. Every feature a lie ! 

Chev. Excuse me ! but I say the likeness is, at least, as 
good as yours : and I am sure the coloring is infinitely more 
delightful. — But guardy, I want money. 

Mor. W T hat, to purchase destruction wholesale ? 

Chev. I have five hundred good, wicked, spirited, famous 
projects on hand. You have seventeen thousand pounds of 
mine, hard cash : I want it — 

Mor. Seventeen thousand plagues ! 

Chev. Every farthing. 

Mor. Your money, sir, is locked up in mortgages. 

Chev. Locked up ? Oh, fun and frolic ! I'll unlock it. II] 
send honest Grime to ye , he carries a master key. 

Mor. Have you no regard to my convenience 1 

Chev. I'll pay the premium ; and if you want security, you 
may have mine. I must have money. The world must hear 
of me. I'll be a patron, and a subscriber, and a collector, and 
an amaceur, and a connoisseur, and a dilettante ! I'll hunt, I'll 
race, I'll dice ! I'll grub, plant, plan, and improve ! I'll buy a stud, 
fell a forest, build a palace, and pull down a church! (Exit.) 

Mor. Mr. Cheveril — He is flown ! Why, ay, with spirits 
equally wild, wanton, and ignorant of evil, I began my career. 
I have now lived long enough to discover that universal nature 
is universal agony. 

40 # 



474 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

SELECTION VIII. 
colonel arden — rissolle. — Anonymms. 

Colonel Arden was preparing- to take a splendid house in London, and had ordered his 
servant to look out for a firstrate cook for his new establishment. When Rissolle 
was introduced, the colonel was puzzled to find out what could be his particular pro 
fession. He saw a remarkably gentlemanly-looking man, his well-tied neckcloth, 
his well-trimmed whiskers, his white kid gloves, his glossy hat, his massive gold 
chain, to which was suspended a repeater, all pronouncing the man of ton ; and 
when the servant announced the ring-fingered gentleman before him as willing to 
dress a dinner on trial, for the purpose of displaying his skill, he was thunderstruck. 

Colonel. Do I mistake ? I really beg pardon — it is fifty- 
eight years since I learned French — am I speaking to a— a — 
cook? 

Rissolle. Oui, Monsieur, I believe I have de first reputation 
in de profession ; I live four years wiz de marquee de Chester, 
and Je me flatte dat if I had not turn him off last months, I 
should have supervise his cuisine at dis moment. 

Col. Oh, you have discharged the marquis, sir ? 

Ris. Oui, mon col-o-nel, I discharge him, because he cast 
affront upon me, insupportable to an artist of sentiment. 

Col. Artist ! 

Ris. Mon col-o-nel, de marquee had de mauvais gout, one 
day, when he have large partie to dine, to put salt into de soup, 
before all de compagnie. 

Col. Indeed ! and may I ask is that considered a crime, 
sir, in your code ? 

Ris. I don't know cod ; you mean morue ? dat is salt 
enough widout. 

Col. I don't mean that, sir. I ask, is it a crime for a gen- 
tleman to put more salt into his soup ? 

Ris. Not a crime, mon col-o-nel, mais it would be de ruin 
of me, as cook, should it be known to de world. So I told his 
lordship I must leave him, for de butler had said, dat he saw 
his lordship put de salt into de soup, which was proclamation 
to de univairse, dat I did not know de proper quantite of salt 
for season my soup. 

Col. And you left his lordship for that ? 

Ris. Oui, sare, his lordship gave me excellent charactair 
I go afterwards to live wiz my lor Trefoil, very respectable 
man, my lor, of good family, and very honest man, I believe — 
but de king, one day, made him his governor in Ireland, and I 
found I could not live in dat deveel Dublin. 

CcL No? 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 475 

Ris. No, mon col-o-nel, it is a fine city, good place — but 
no opera. 

Col. How shocking ! and you left his excellency on that 
account ? 

Ris. Oui, mon col-o-nel. 

Col. Why, his excellency managed to live there without an 
opera. 

Ris. Yes, mon col-o-nel, c'est vrai, but I tink he did not 
know dare was none when he took de place. I have de charac- 
tair from my lord to state why I leave him. 

Col. And, pray sir, what wages do you expect ? 

Ris, Wages ! Je n'entend pas, mon col-o-nel ; do you 
mean de stipend — de salaire ? 

Col. As you please. 

Ris. My lord Trefoil give to me seven hundred pounds a 
year, my wine, and horse and tilbury, wid small tigre for him. 

Col. Small what ! sir ? 

Ris. Tigre — little man-boy to hold de horse. 

Col. Ah ! seven hundred pounds a year and a tiger ! 

Ris. Exclusive of de pastry, mon col-o-nel, I never touch 
dat department, but I have de honor to recommend Jenkin, 
my sister's husband, for de pastry, at five hundred pounds and 
his wine. Oh, Jenkin is dog a sheap at dat, mon col-o-nel. 

Col. Oh, exclusive of pastry ! 

Ris. Oui, mon col-o-nel. 

Col. Which is to be obtained for five hundred pounds a 
year additional. Why, sir, the rector of my parish, a clergy- 
man and a gentleman, with an amiable wife and seven children, 
has but half that sum to live upon. 

Ris. Poor clergie ! mon col-o-nel. (Shrugging his shoul- 
ders.) I pity your clergie ! But den you don't considare de 
science and experience dat it require to make de soup, de ome- 
lette — 

Col. The mischiefs take your omelette, sir. Do you mean 
seriously and gravely to ask me seven hundred pounds a year 
for your services. 

Ris. Oui, vraiment, mon col-o-nel. (Taking a pinch of 
snuff from a gold snuff-box.) 

Col. Why then, sir, I can't stand this any longer. Seven 
hundred pounds ! Double it, sir, and I'll be your cook for the 
rest of my life. Good morning, sir. (In an angry manner, ad- 
vancing towards Rissolle, who retreats out of the door.) Seven 
hundred pounds ! Seven hundred — mon col-o-nel — rascal. — 



476 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

SELECTION IX. 

CAPTAIN HARDY NATHAN. AtlOTiymOUS. 

Nathan. Good morning, captain. How do you stand this 
hot weather ? 

Captain. Lord bless you, boy, it's a cold bath to what we 
had at Monmouth. Did I ever tell you about that-are battle ? 

N. I have always understood that it was dreadful hot 
that day ! 

Cap. Lord bless you, boy, it makes my crutch sweat to 
think on't — and if I didn't hate long stories, I'd tell you things 
about that-are battle, sich as you wouldn't believe, you rogue, 
if I didn't tell you. It beats all natur how hot it was. 

N. I wonder you did not all die of heat and fatigue. 

Cap. Why, so we should, if the reg'lars had only died first ; 
but, you see, they never liked the Jarseys, and wouldn't lay 
their bones there. Now if I didn't hate long stories, I'd tell 
you all about that-are business, for you see they don't do things 
so now-a-days. 

N. How so ? — Do not people die as they used to ? 

Cap. Lord bless you, no. It beat all natur to see how 
long the reg'lars would kick after we killed them. 

N. What ! kick after they were killed ! That does beat all 
natur, as you say. 

Cap. Come, boy, no splitting hairs with an old continental, 
for you see, if I didn't hate long stories, I'd tell you things 
about this-ere battle, that you'd never believe, Why, Lord 
bless you, when gineral Washington telled us we might give 
it to 'em, we gin it to 'em, I tell you. 

N. You gave what to them ? 

Cap. Cold lead, you rogue. Why, bless you, we fired 
twice to their once, you see ; and if I didn't hate long stories, 
I'd tell you how we did it. You must know, the reg'lars wort* 
their close-bodied red coats, because they thought we were 
afeard on 'em, but we did not wear any coats, you see, because 
we hadn't any. 

N. How happened you to be without coats ? 

Cap. Why, Lord bless you, they would wear out, and the 
Stales couldn't buy us any more, you see, and so we marched 
the lighter, and worked the freer for it. Now if I did not hate 
long stories, I would tell you what the gineral said to me next 
day, when I had a touch of the rheumatiz from lying on the field 
without a blanket all night. You must know, it was raining 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 477 

hard just then, and we were pushing on like all n Atur arter the 
regulars. 

N. What did the gineral say to you ? 

Cap. Not a syllable, says he, but off comes his coat, and he 
throws it over my shoulders, " there, captain," says he, " weai 
that, for we can't spare you yet." Now don't that beat all na- 
tur, hey ? 

N. So you wore the general's coat, did you ? 

Cap. Lord bless your simple heart, no. I didn't feel sick 
arter that, I tell you. No, gineral, says I, they can spare me 
better than they can you, just now, and so I'll take the will for 
the deed, says I. 

N. You will never forget this kindness, captain. 

Cap. Not I, boy ! I never feel a twinge of the rheum atiz, 
but what I say, God bless the gineral. Now you see, I hate 
long stories, or I'd tell you how I gin it to a reg'lar that tried to 
shoot the gineral at Monmouth. You know we were at close 
quarters, and the gineral was right between the too fires. 

N. I wonder he was not shot. 

Cap. Lord bless your ignorant soul, nobody could kill the 
gineral ; but you see, a sneaking reg'lar didn't know this, and 
so he leveled his musket at him, and you see, I seed what he 
was arter, and I gin the gineraPs horse a slap on the haunches, 
and it beats all natur how he sprung, and the gineral all the 
while as straight as a gun-barrel. 

N. And you saved the gineral's life. 

Cap. Didn't I tell you nobody could kill the gineral ; but, 
you see, his horse w T as in the rake of my gun, and I wanted to 
get the start of that cowardly reg'lar. 

N. Did you hit him ? 

Cap. Lord bless your simple soul, does the thunder hit 
where it strikes ! though the fellow made me blink a little, for 
he carried away part of this ear. — See there ? [Showing his 
ear.) Nov/ don't that beat all natur ? 

N. I think it does. But tell me how is it, that you took all 
these things so calmly. What made you so contented under 
your privations and hardships ? 

Cap. Oh, bless your young soul, we got used to it. Besides, 
you see, the gineral never flinched nor grumbled. 

N. Yes, but you served without being paid. 

Cap. So did the gineral, and the States, you know, were 
poor as all natur. 

N. But you had families to support. 

Cap. Ay, ay, but the gineral always told us that God and 
( iir country would take care of them, you see. Now, if 1 



478 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

didn't hate long stories, Fd tell you how it turned out just as 
he said, for he beat all natur for guessing right. 

N. Then you feel happy, and satisfied with what you have 
done for your country, and what she has done for you 1 

Cap. Why, Lord bless you, if I hadn't left one of my legs 
at Yorktown, I would'nt have touched a stiver of the States' 
money, and as it is, I am so old, that I shall not need it long. 
You must know, I long to see the gineral again, for if he don't 
hate long stories as bad as I do, I shall tell him all about 
America, you see, for it beats all natur how things have 
changed since he left us. 



SELECTION X. 

SIR FRANCIS WRONGHEAD MANLY. Cihhet. 

Manly. Sir Francis, your servant. 

Sir Francis. Cousin Manly. 

Man. I am come to see how the family goes on here. 

Sir F. Troth ! all as busy as bees ; I have been on the 
wing ever since eight o'clock this morning. 

Man. By your early hour, then, I suppose you have been 
making your court to some of the great men. 

Sir F. Why, faith ! you have hit it, sir. I was advised to 
lose no time ; so I e'en went straight forward to one great man 
I had never seen in all my life before. 

Man. Right ! that was doing business ; but who had you 
got to introduce you 1 

Sir F. Why, nobody ; I remember I had heard a wise man 
say, — My son, be bold — so troth ! I introduced myself. 

Man. As how 7 , pray ? 

Sir F. Why, thus, look ye, — Please your lordship, says I, 
I am Sir Francis Wronghead, of Bumper Hall, and member of 
parliament for the borough of Guzzledown. Sir, your humble 
servant, says my lord ; thof I have not the honor to know your 
person, I have heard you are a very honest gentleman, and I am 
glad your borough has made choice of so worthy a representa- 
tive ; and so, says he, Sir Francis, have you any service to 
command me 1 Naw, cousin, these last words, you may be 
sure, gave me no small encouragement. And thof I know, sir, 
you hive no extraordinary opinion of my parts, yet I believe 
you won't say that I missed it naw ! 

Man. Well. I hope I shall have no cause. 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 479 

Sir F. So, when I found him so courteous — My lore , saya 
I, I did not think to ha 1 troubled your lordship with business 
upon my first visit ; but, since your lordship is pleased not to 
stand upon ceremony, why truly, says I, I think naw is as good 
as another time. 

Man. Right ! there you pushed him home. 

Sir F. Ay, ay, I had a mind to let him see that I was none 
of your mealy-mouthed ones. 

Man. Very good. 

Sir F. So, in short, my lord, says I, I have a good estate — ■ 
but — a — it's a little awt at elbows ; and, as I desire to serve 
my king as w T ell as my country, I shall be very willing to ac- 
cept a place at court. 

Man. So this was making short work on't. 

Sir F. Ay, ay ! I shot him flying, cousin : some of your 
hawf-witted ones, naw, would ha' hummed and hawed, and 
dangled a month or two after him, before they durst open their 
mouths about a place, and, mayhap, not ha' got it at last neither. 

Man. Oh, I'm glad your so sure on't. 

Sir F. You shall hear, cousin. Sir Francis, says my lord, 
pray what sort of a place may you ha' turned your thoughts 
upon ? My lord, says I, beggars must not be choosers ; but 
ony place, says I, about a thousand a year, will be well enough 
to be doing with, till something better falls in, — for I thowght it 
would not look well to stond haggling with him at first. 

Man. No, no, your business was to get footing any way. 

Sir F. Right ! ay, there's it ! ay, cousin, I see you know 
the world. 

Man. Yes, yes, one sees more of it every day. — Well, but 
what said my lord to all this ? 

Sir F. Sir Francis, says he, I shall be glad to serve you 
any way that lies in my power ; so he gave me a squeeze by 
the hand, as much as to say, give yourself no trouble — I'll do 
your business ; with that he turned himself abawt to somebody 
with a colored ribbon across here, that looked, in my thowghts, 
as if he came for a place too. 

Man. Ha ! so, upon these hopes you are to make your fortune ! 

Sir F. Why, do you think there is any doubt of it, sir ? 

Man. Oh, no, I have not the least doubt about it ; for just as 
you have done, I made my fortune ten years ago. 

Sir F. Why, I never knew you had a place, cousin. 

Man. Nor I neither, upon my faith, cousin. But you, per- 
haps, may have better fortune ; for I suppose my lord has heard 
of what importance you were in the debate to-day. You have 
been since down at the house, I presume. 



480 fJNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Sir F. Oh, yes ! I would not neglect the house for ever so 
much. 

Man. Well, and pray what have they done there ? 

Sir F. Why, troth ! I can't well tell you what they have 
done ; but I can tell you what I did, and I think pretty well in the 
main, only I happened to make a little mistake at last, indeed. 

Man. How was that ? 

Sir F. Why, they were all got there into a sort of puzzling 
debate about the good of the nation — and I were always for that, 
you know — but, in short, the arguments were so long-winded 
on both sides, that waunds ! I did not well understand urn : 
howsomever I was convinced, and so resolved to vote right, 
according to my conscience ; so, when they came to put the 
question, as they call it — I don't know how 'twas — but I doubt 
I cried ay ! when I should ha' cried no ! 

Man. How came that about ? 

Sir F. Why, by a mistake, as I tell you ; for there was a 
good-humored sort of a gentleman, one Mr. Totherside, I think 
they call him, that sat next me, as soon as I had cried ay ! gives 
me a hearty shake by the hand. Sir, says he, you are a man 
of honor, and a true Englishman ; and I should be proud to be 
better acquainted with you — and so, with that he takes me by 
the sleeve, along with the crowd into the lobby — so I knew 
nowght — but odds-flesh ! I was got on the wrong side the pos 
— for I were told, afterwards, I should have staid where I was. 

Man. And so, if you had not quite made your fortune before, 
you have clinched it now ! Ah, thou head of the Wrong- 
heads ! [Aside.) 

Sir F. Odso ! here's my lady come home at last. I hope, 
cousin, you will be so kind as to take a family supper with us * 

Man. Another time, Sir Francis ; but to-night I am engaged 



SELECTION XL 

king — miller- * £ourtier. — Anonymous. 

King. [Enters alone ivrapped in a cloak.) No, no, this can 
fce no public road, that's certain. I have lost my way undoubt 
edly. Of what advantage is it now to be a king. Night shows 
me no respect ; I cannot see better, nor walk so well as another 
man. When a king is lost in a wood, what is he more than 
other men. His wisdom knows not which is north and 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 481 

which is south; his power a beggar's dog would bark at, and 
the beggar himself would not bow to his greatness. And yet 
how often are we puffed up with these false attributes ! Well, 
in losing the monarch I have found the man. But hark ! some- 
bcdy sure is near. What were it best to do ? Will my majesty 
protect me 1 No. Throw majesty aside then, and let manhood 
do it, (Enter the miller.) 

Miller. I believe I hear the rogue. Who's there ? 

King. No rogue, I assure you. 

Miller. Little better, friend, I believe. Who fired that gun ? 

King. Not I, indeed. 

Miller. You lie, 1 believe. 

King. (Aside.) Lie, lie ! how strange it seems to me to be 
talked to in this style. (Aloud.) Upon my word I don't, sir. 

Miller. Come, come, sirrah, confess ; you have shot one of 
the king's deer, hav'nt you ? 

King. No, indeed ; I owe the king more respect. I heard 
a gun go off, to be sure, and was afraid some robbers might 
have been near. 

Miller. I am not bound to believe this, friend. Pray who 
are you ? What's your name 1 

King. Name ! 

Miller. Name ! ay, name. You have a name, hav'nt you ? 
Where do you come from 1 What is your business here ? 

King. These are questions I have not been used to, honest 
man. 

Miller. May be so ; but they are questions no honest man 
would be afraid to answer ; so if you can give no better account 
of yourself, I shall make bold to take you along with me, if 
you please. 

King. With you ! what authority have you to — — 

Miller. The king's authority, if I must give you an ac- 
count. Sir, I am John Cockle, the miller of Mansfield, one 
of his majesty's keepers in the forest of Sherwood, and I will 
let no suspicious fellow pass this way unless he can give a 
better account of himself than you have done, I promise you. 

King. Very well, sir, I am very glad to hear the king has 
so good an officer ; and since I find you have his authority, I 
will give you a better account of myself, if you will do me the 
favor to hear it. 

Miller. You don't deserve it, I believe ; but let's hear what 
you can say for yourself. 

King. I have the honor to belong to the king as well as 
you, and perhaps should be as unwilling to see any wrong 
done him. I came down with him to hunt in this forest, a«d 

41 



462 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

the chase leading us to-day a great way from home. I am b* 
nighted in this wood, and have lost my way. 

Miller. This does not sound well ; if you have been a hunt 
ing, pray where is your horse ? 

King. I have tired my horse so that he lay down under me 
and I was obliged to leave him. 

Miller. If I thought I might believe this now. 

King. I am not used to lie, honest man. 

Miller. What, do you live at court, and not lie ? that's * 
likely story, indeed ! 

King. Be that as it will, I speak truth now, I assure you , 
and to convince you of it, if you will attend me to Nottingham, 
or give me a night's lodging in your house, here is something 
to pay you for your trouble, (Offering money) and if that is not 
sufficient, I will satisfy you in the morning to your utmost desire. 

Miller. Ay, now I am convinced you are a courtier ; here is 
a little bribe for to-day, and a large promise for to-morrow, both 
in a breath. Here, take it again, John Cockle is no courtier. 
He can do what he ought without a bribe. 

King. Thou art a very extraordinary man, I must own, and 
I should be glad, methinks, to be further acquainted with thee. 

Miller. Prithee, don't thee and thou me at this rate. I sup- 
pose I am as good a man as yourself, at least. 

King. Sir, I beg pardon. 

Miller. Nay, I am not angry, friend ; only I don't love to 
be too familiar with you until I am satisfied as to your honesty. 

King. You are right. But what am I to do ? 

Miller. You may do what you please. You are twelve 
miles from Nottingham, and all the way through this thick 
wood ; but if you are resolved upon going thither to-night, I 
will put you in the road and direct you the best I can, or if you 
will except of such poor entertainment as a miller can give, you 
shall be welcome to stay all night, and in the morning I will go 
with you myself. 

King. And cannot you go with me to-night ? 

Miller. I would not go with you to-night if you were the 
king himself. 

King. Then I must go with you, I think. 
(Enter a courtier in haste.) 

Courtier. Ah ! is your majesty safe ? We have hunted the 
forest over to find you. 

Miller. How ! are you the king ! (Kneels.) Your majesty 
will pardon the ill-usage you have received. (The King draws 
his sword.) His majesty surely will not kill a servant for doinp 
his duty too faithfully. 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 483 

King. No, my good fellow. So far from having any thing 
to pardon, I am much your debtor. I cannot think but so good 
and honest a man, will make a worthy and honorable knight. 
Rise, Sir John Cockle, and receive this sword as a badge of 
knighthood, and a pledge of my protection ; and to support your 
nobility, and in some measure requite you for the pleasure you 
have done us, a thousand crowns a year shall be your revenue. 



SELECTION XII. 

OLLAPOD SIR CHARLES CROPLAND. Colman. 

Ollapod. Sir Charles, I have the honor to be your slave. 
Hope your health is good. Been a hard winter here — Sore 
throats were plenty : so were woodcocks. Flushed four couple, 
one morning in a half-mile walk from our town, to cure Mrs. 
Quarles of a quinsy. May coming on soon, Sir Charles. Hope 
you come to sojourn. Should'nt be always on the wing — that's 
being too nighty. Do you take, good sir, do you take 1 

Sir Charles. Oh, yes, I take. But by the cockade in your 
hat, Ollapod, you have added lately, it seems, to your avocations. 

Olla. My dear Sir Charles, I have now the honor to be 
cornet in the volunteer association corps of our town. It fell 
out unexpected — pop on a sudden ; like the going-off of a field- 
piece, or an alderman in an apoplexy. 

Sir C. Explain. 

Olla. Happening to be at home — rainy day — no going out 
to sport, blister, shoot, nor bleed — was busy behind the counter. 
— You know my shop, Sir Charles — Galen's head over the door. 
■ — new-gilt him last week, by the by — looks as fresh as a pilL 

Sir C. Well, no more on that head now — proceed. 

Olla. On that head ! That's very well, very well indeed ! 
Thank you, good sir — I owe you one. Churchwarden Posh, of 
our town, being ill of an indigestion, from eating three pounds 
of measly pork, at a vestry dinner, I was making up a cathartic 
for the patient ; when, who should strut into the shop, but Lieu- 
tenant Grains, the brewer — sleek as a dray-horse — in a smart 
scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarb-colored lapel. 
I confess his figure struck me. I looked at him, as I was 
thumping the mortar, and felt instantly inoculated with a mili- 
tary ardor. 

Sir C. Inoculated ! I hope your ardor was of a very favor- 
able sort. 

Olla. Ha ! ha ! That's very well — very well, indeed ! — 
Thank you, good sir — I owe you one. We first talked of 



484 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

shooting — he knew my celebrity that way, Sir Charles. I told 
him, the day before, I had killed six brace of birds — I thun ped 
on at the mortar — We then talked of physic — I told him, the 
day before, I had killed — lost, I mean — six brace of patients — 
I thumped on at the mortar — eyeing him all the while ; for he 
looked mighty flashy, to be sure ; and I felt an itching to belong 
to the corps. The medical, and military, both deal in death, you 
know — so 'twas natural. Do you take, good sir — do you take ? 

Sir C. Take ? Oh, nobody can miss. 

Olla. He then talked of the corps itself ; said it was sickly ; 
and if a professional person would administer to the health of 
the association — dose the men, and drench the horse — he could, 
perhaps, procure him a cornetcy. 

Sir C. Well, you jumped at the offer ! 

Olla. Jumped ! I jumped over the counter — kicked down 
churchwarden Posh's cathartic into the pocket of lieutenant 
Grain's smart scarlet jacket, tastily turned up with a rhubarb- 
colored lapel ; embraced him and his offer, and I am now cor- 
net Ollapod, apothecary, at the Galen's Head, of the associa- 
tion corps of cavalry, at your service. 

Sir C. I wish you joy of your appointment. You may now 
distill water for the shop, from the laurels you gather in the field. 

Olla. Water for — Oh ! laurel-water. Come, that's very well 
— very well, indeed ! Thank you, good sir, — I owe you one. 
Why, I fancy fame will follow, when the poison of a small mis- 
take I made, has ceased to operate. 

Sir G. A mistake ? 

Olla. Having to attend Lady Kitty Carbuncle on a grand 
field day, clapped a pint bottle of her ladyship's diet drink into 
one of my holsters ; intending to proceed to the patient, after 
the exercise was over. I reached the martial ground, and jal- 
aped — galloped, I mean — wheeled and flourished with great 
eclat ; but when the word ' fire' was given, meaning to pull out 
my pistol, in a horrible hurry, 1 presented, neck foremost, the 
villanous diet drink of Lady Kitty Carbuncle ; and the medi- 
cine being unfortunately fermented by the jolting of my horse, 
h forced out the cork with a prodigious pop, full in the face of 
my gallant commander. 

Sir C. But in the midst of so many pursuits, how pro- 
ceeds practice among the ladies ? Any new faces since I left 
the country? 

Olla. Nothing worth an item — Nothing new arrived in our 
town. In the village, to be sure, hard by, Miss Emily Wor- 
thington, a most brilliant beauty, has lately given lustre to the 
estate of Farmer Harrowby, 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 485 

Sir C. My dear doctor, the lady of all others I wish most 
to know. Introduce yourself to the family, and pave the way for 
me. Come ! mount your horse — I'll explain more as you go to 
the stable : — but I am in a flame, in a fever, till I see you off. 

Olla. In a fever ! I'll send you physic enough to fill a bag- 
gage wagon. 

Sir C. {Aside.) So ! a long bill as the price of his po- 
liteness ! 

Olla. You need not bleed ; but you must have medicine. 

Sir C. If I must have medicine, Ollapod, I fancy I shall 
bleed pretty freely. 

Olla. Come, that's very well ! very well indeed ! Thank 
you, good sir — I owe you one. Before dinner, a strong dose 
of coloquintida, senna, scammony, and gamboge ; — 

Sir C. Oh, confound scammony and gamboge ! 

Olla. At night a narcotic ; next day, saline draughts, cam* 
phorated jalap, and— 

Sir C. Zounds ! only go, and I'll swallow your whole shop. 

Olla. Galen forbid ! 'Tis enough to kill every customer I 
have in the parish ! — Then we'll throw in the bark — by the by, 
talking of bark, Sir Charles, that Juno of yours is the prettiest 
pointer — 

Sir C. Well, well, she is yours. 

Olla. My dear Sir Charles ! such sport next shooting 
season ! If I had but a double-barreled gun — 

Sir C. Take mine that hangs in the hall. 

Olla. My dear Sir Charles ! — Here's morning's work ; senna 
and coloquintida — [Aside.) 

Sir C Well, begone, then. [Pushing him.) 

Olla. I'm off — Scammony and gamboge. 

Sir C. Nay, fly, man ! 

Olla. I do, Sir Charles — A double-barreled gun — I fly — 
the bark — I'm going — Juno — a narcotic — 

Sir C. Off with you ! 



SELECTION XIII.- 

OLD FICKLE TRISTRAM FICKLE. Allingham. 

Old Fickle. What reputation, what honor, what profit can 
accrue to you, from such conduct as yours ? One moment you 
tell me you are going to become the greatest musician in tho 
world, and straight you fill my house with fiddlers. 

Tristram. I am clear out of that scrape now, sir. 

41 * 



486 UNITED STATES SPEAKER 

Old F. Then, from a fiddler, you are mc tamorphosed into 
a philosopher ; and for the noise of drums, trumpets, and haut- 
boys? y° u substitute a vile jargon, more unintelligible than was 
ever heard at the Tower of Babel. 

Tri. You are right, sir. I have found out that philosophy 
is folly ; so I have cut the philosophers of all sects, from Plato 
and Aristotle, down to the puzzlers of modern date. 

Old F. How much had I to pay the cooper, the other day, 
for barreling you up in a large tub, when you resolved to live 
like Diogenes 1 

Tri. You should not have paid him any thing, sir, for the 
tub would not hold. You see the contents are run out. 

Old F. No jesting, sir ; this is no laughing matter. Your 
follies have tired me out. I verily believe you have taken the 
whole round of arts and sciences in a month, and have been 
of fifty different minds in half an hour. 

Tri. And, by that, shown the versatility of my genius. 

Old F. Don't tell me of versatility, sir. Let me see a little 
steadiness. You have never yet been constant to any thing 
but extravagance. 

Tri. Yes, sir, one thing more 

Old F. What is that, sir ? 

Tri. Affection for you. However my head may have wan- 
dered, my heart has always been constantly attached to the 
kindest of parents ; and from this moment, I am resolved to lay 
my follies aside, and pursue that line of conduct which will be 
most pleasing to the best of fathers and of friends. 

Old F. Well said, my boy, well said! You make me 
happy indeed. (Patting him on the shoulder.) Now then, my 
dear Tristram, let me know what you really mean to do. 

Tri. To study the law — 

OldF. The law! 

Tri. I am most resolutely bent on following that profession. 

Old F. No ! 

Tri. Absolutely and irrevocably fixed. 

Old F. Better and better ; I am overjoyed. Why, 'tis the 
very thing I wished. Now I am happy. (Tristram maktj 
gestures as if speaking.) See how his mind is engaged ! 

Tri. Gentlemen of the jury. — 

Old F. Why Tristram— 

Tri. This is a cause — 

Old F. Oh, my dear boy ! I forgive you all your tricks 
I see something about you now that I can depend on„ (Tris* 
tram continues making gestures.) 

Tri, I am for the plaintiff in this cause — 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 48? 

Old F. Bravo ! bravo ! excellent boy ! I'll go and order 
your books directly. 

Tri. 'Tis done, sir. 

Old F. What, already ? 

Tri. I ordered twelve square feet of books, when I first 
thought of embracing the arduous profession of the law. 

Old F. What, do you mean to read by the foot ? 

Tri. By the foot, sir ; that is the only way to become a 
solid lawyer. 

Old F. Twelve square feet of learning ! — Well — 

Tri. I have likewise sent for a barber — 

Old F. A barber ! — What ! is he to teach you to shave 
close ? 

Tri. He is to shave one half of my head, sir. 

Old F. You will excuse me, if I cannot perfectly under- 
stand what that has to do with the study of the law. 

Tri. Did you never hear of Demosthenes, sir, the Athenian 
orator 1 He had half his head shaved, and locked himself up 
in a coal-cellar. 

Old F. Ah ! he was perfectly right to lock himself up, 
after having undergone such an operation as that. He cer- 
tainly would have made rather an odd figure abroad. 

Tri. I think I see him now, awaking the dormant patriot- 
ism of his countrymen — lightning in his eye, and thunder in 
his voice — he pours forth a torrent of eloquence, resistless in 
its force — the throne of Philip trembles while he speaks — he 
denounces, and indignation fills the bosom of his hearers — he 
exposes the impending danger, and every one sees impending 
ruin — he threatens the tyrant, they grasp their swords — he 
calls for vengeance, their thirsty weapons glitter in the air, and 
thousands reverberate the cry. One soul animates a nation, 
and that soul is the soul of the orator. 

Old F. Oh ! what a figure he'll make in the King's Bench! 
— But, come, I will tell you now what my plan is, and then 
you will see how happily this determination of yours will fur- 
ther it. — You have [Tristram makes extravagant gestures, as 
if speaking.) often heard me speak of my friend Briefwit, the 
barrister — 

Tri. Who is against me in this cause — 

Old F. He is a most learned lawyer — . 

Tri. But as I have justice on my side — 

Old F. Zounds! he doesn't hear a word I say! — Why, 
Tristram ! 

Tri. I beg your pardon, sir ; I was prosecuting my studies. 

Old F. Now attend — 



488 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Tri. As my learned friend observes, — go on, sir, I am all 
attention. 

Old F. Well — my friend, the counselor — 

Tri. Say learned friend, if you please sir. We gentlemen 
of the law always — 

Old F. Well, well, my learned friend — 

Tri. A black patch ! 

Old F. Will you listen and be silent 1 

Tri. I am as mute as a judge. 

Old F. My friend, I say, has a ward, who is very hand- 
some, and who has a very handsome fortune. She would 
make you a charming wife. 

Tri. This is an action — 

Old F. Now, I have hitherto been afraid to introduce you 
to my friend, the barrister, because I thought your lightness 
and his gravity — 

Tri. Might be plaintiff and defendant. 

Old F. But now you are grown serious and steady, and 
have resolved to pursue his profession, I will shortly bring you 
together : you will obtain his good opinion, and all the rest 
follows of course. 

Tri. A verdict in my favor. 

Old F. You marry and sit down happy for life. 

Tri. In the King's Bench. 

Old F. Bravo ! ha, ha, ha ! But now run to your study — - 
run to your study, my dear Tristram, and I'll go and call upon 
the counselor. 

Tri. I remove by habeas corpus. 

Old F. Pray have the goodness to make haste then. 

{Hurrying him off.) 

Tri. Gentlemen of the jury, this is a cause — (Exit.) 

Old F. The inimitable boy ! I am now the happiest father 
living. What genius he has ! He'll be lord chancellor one day 
or other, I dare be sworn — I am sure he has talents ! Oh, how 
I long to see him at the bar. 



SELECTION XIV. 

DOCTOR WISEPATE THADY o'kEEN ROBERT. OultOTl. 

(Doctor Wisepate, in a morning gown and velvet nightcap, dis- 
covered at a table at breakfast. A wig-box near him lying open.) 

Doctor Wisepate. Plague on her ladyship's ugly cur' — it 
has broke three bottles of bark that I had prepared myself foi 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 489 

lord Spleen. I wonder lady Apes troubled me with it. But 
I understand it threw down her flower-pots and destroyed all 
her myrtles. I'd send it home this minute, but I'm unwilling 
to offend its mistress ; for, as she has a deal of money, and no 
relation, she may think proper to remember me in her will. 
[Noise within.) Eh ! what noise is that in the hall ? 

{Enter Thady O'Keen, dirty and wet, followed by Robert.) 

T. O'Kcen. But I must and will, do you see. Very pretty 
indeed, keeping people standing in the hall, shivering and shak- 
ing with the wet and cold ! 

Robert. The mischief's in you, I believe ; you order me 
about as if you were my master. 

Dr. W. Why, what's all this ! who is this unmannerly 
fellow ? 

T. CfK. There ! your master says you are an unmannerly 
fellow. 

Rob. Sir, it's lady Apes's servant : he has a letter and says 
he won't deliver it into any one's hands but your honor's. Now, 
I warrant my master will teach you better behavior. (Exit.) 

T. O'K. Oh, are you sure you are Doctor Wisepate ? 

Dr. W. Sure ! to be sure I am. 

T. O'K. Och ! plague on my hat, how wet it is ! (Shakes 
his hat about the room, <$fc.) 

Dr. W. (Lays his spectacles down and rises from the table.) 
Zounds ! fellow, don't wet my room in that manner ! 

T. O'K. Eh ! Well— Oh, I beg pardon— there's the letter : 
and since I must not dry my hat in your room, why, as you 
particularly desire it, I will go down to the kitchen, and dry it 
and myself before the fire. (Goes out.) 

Dr. W. Here, you, sir, come back. — I must teach him bet- 
ter manners. (Re-enter Thady O'Keen.) Hark you, fellow — 
whom do you live with ? 

T. O'K. Whom do I live with ? — why with my mistress, 
to be sure, lady Apes. 

Dr. W. And, pray, sir, how long have you lived with her 
ladyship ? 

T. O'K. How long ? — ever since the first day she hired me. 

Dr. W. And has her ladyship taught you no better manners ? 

T. O'K. Manners 1 — she never taught me any, good or bad. 

Dr. W. Then, sir, I will ; I'll show you how you should 
address a gentleman when you enter a room. What's your 
name ? • 

T. O'K. Name ?— why, it's Thady O'Keen, my jewel.— 
What in wonder is he going to do with my name ! (Aside.) 

Dr. W. Then, sir, you shall be Dr. Wisepate for awhile, 



.490 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

and I'll be Thady O'Keen, just to show you how yea should 
enter a room and deliver a letter. 

T. O'K. Eh! what? make a swap of ourselves! — With 
all my heart. Here's my wet hat for you. 

Dr. W. There, sit down in my chair. [Going.) 

T. O'A Stop, stop, honey — by my shoul you can n* ?er be 
Thady O'Keen without you have this little shillelagh in your 
fist.— There. 

Dr. W. Very well. Sit you down. (Takes Thady' s hat, fyc. 
and goes out.) 

T. O'K. (Solus.) Let me see — I can never be a doctor 
either, without some sort of a wig. Oh, here is one — and here's 
my spectacles, faith. On my conscience, I'm the thing ! (Puts 
on the wig awkwardly, and the spectacles ; then sits in the doc* 
tor's chair. Dr. Wisepate knocks.) Walk in, honey., (Helps 
himself to chocolate and bread and butter.) 

(Re-enter Dr. Wisepate, bowing.) 

Dr. W. Please your honor — (Aside.) — What assurance the 
fellow has ! 

T. O'Jl. Speak out, young man, and don't be bashful. (Eat- 
ing, <Sfc.) 

Dr. W. Please your honor, my lady sends her respectful 
compliments — hopes your honor is well. 

T. O'K. Pretty well, pretty well, I thank you. 

Dr. W. And has desired me to deliver your honor this lettei 

T. O'K. That letter, well, why don't you bring it to me ? 
Pray, am I to rise from the table ? 

Dr. W. So, he's acting my character with a vengeance. — >* 
But I'll humor him. (Aside.) There your honor. (Gives tlie 
letter bowing.) 

T. CPK. (Opens the letter and reads.) 

" Sir, — Since my dear Flora has given you so much uneasi- 
ness — Och ! by my shoul, that's no lie — I beg leave to inform 
you that a gentleman shall call either to-day or to-morrow for 
her. If it should rain, I request the poor thing may have a — 
what's this ? — C o a — coat ! — coat, no — coach. Yours." — 
Hem ! well — no answer's required, young man. 

Dr. W. His impudence has struck me almost dumb. (Aside.) 
No answer, your honor ? 

T. O'K. No, my good fellow — but come here — let me look 
at you. Oh, you seem very wet. W T hy it's you I understand, 
who brought this troublesome cur a few days ago : you have 
been often backwards and forwards, but I conld never see you 
till now. Hollo, Robert! where's my lazy good-for-nothing 
servant 1 Robert ! (Rings a bell) 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING 49 1 

Dr. W. Eh ! what the deuce does he mean 1 ( Iside) 
(Enter Robert, icho stares at them both.) 

Rob. Eh! — Did — did you call, sir? (To Dr. WisepaU.) 

T. O'K. Yes, sirrah. Take that poor fellow down to the 
kitchen ; he's come upon a foolish errand this cold wet day — ■ 
so, do you see, give him something to eat and drink — as much 
as he likes — and bid my steward give hiin a guinea for his 
trouble. 

Rob. Eh! 

T. O'K. Tunder and ouns, fellow ! must I put my words 
into my mouth, and take them out again, for you ? Thady, (To 
the Doctor.) my jewel, just give that blockhead of mine a rap on 
his sconce with your little bit of a switch, and I'll do as much 
for you another time. 

Dr. W. So, instead of my instructing the fellow he has 
absolutely instructed me. (Aside.) Well, sir, you have con- 
vinced me what Dr. Wisepate should be, and now suppose we 
are ourselves again. 

T. CfK. (Rises.) With all my heart, sir. Here's your 
honor's wig and spectacles, and now give me my comfortable 
hat and switch. 

Dr. W. And, Robert, obey the orders that my representa- 
tive gave you, 

Rob. What ! carry him down to the kitchen ! 

T. O'K. No, young man, I shan't trouble you to carry me 
down — I'll carry myself down, and you shall see w 7 hat a beau- 
tiful hand master O'Keen is at a knife and fork. (Exit with 
Robert.) 

Dr. W. (Solus.) Well, this fellow has some humor ; indeed 
he has fairly turned the tables upon me. I wash I could get 
him to give a dose of my prescribing to her ladyship's cats and 
dogs, for the foolish woman has absolutely bequeathed in her 
will an annual sum for the care of each, after her death. Oh, 
dear ! dear ! how much more to her credit it w r ould be to con- 
sider the present exigencies of her country, and add to the 
Dumber of voluntary contributions ! 



SELECTION XV. 
prince henry — falstaff. — Shakspeare. 

P. Henry. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been ? 

Falstaff. A plague on all cowards, I say, and a vengeance 
too! marry, and amen! — (To an attendant.) Give me a cup 
v( sack, boy. — Ere I lead this life long, 111 sew nethersocks, 



492 UNITED STATE SPEAKER. 

and mend them, and foot them too. A plague on all cowards : 
— Give me a cup of sack, rogue. — Is there no virtue extant ? 
(Drains the cup.) You rogue, here's lime in this sack, too. 
There is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man! 
Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it ; a 
villanous coward. — Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou 
wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of 
;he earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three 
good men unhanged in England ; and one of them is fat, and 
grown old, — a bad world, I say ! A plague on all cowards, I 
say still ! 

P. Henry. How now, wool-sack 1 what mutter you ? 

Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee out of thy king- 
dom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee 
like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. 
You — Prince of Wales ! 

P. Henry. Why, what's the matter ? 

Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me that. 

P. Henry. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll stab 
thee. 

Fal. I call thee coward 1 I'll see thee hanged ere I call 
thee coward : but I would give a thousand pound, I could run 
as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoul* 
ders, you care not who sees your back. Call you that, backing 
of your friends ? A plague upon such backing ! give me thern 
that will face me. — Give me a cup of sack : — I am a rogue, if 
I have drunk to-day. 

P. Henry. Oh villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou, 
drankst last. 

Fal. All's one for that. (He drinks.) A plague on all 
cowards, still say I ! 

P. Henry. What's the matter ? 

Fal. What's the matter ? here be four of us have taken a 
thousand pound this morning. 

P. Henry. Where is it, Jack ? where is it ? 

Fal. Where is it 1 taken from us, it is : a hundred upon 
poor four of us. 

P. Henry. What, a hundred, man ? 

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen 
of them two hours together. I have escaped by miracle. I 
am eight times thrust through the doublet : four through the 
hose ; my buckler cut through and through ; my sword hacked 
like a handsaw, ecce signum. (Shows his sword.) I never 
dealt better since I was a man : all would not do. A plague 
on all cowards '— 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 493 

P. Henri/. What, fought you with them all ? 

Fal. All ? I know not what ye call all ; but, if [ fought not 
with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish : if there were not 
two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two- 
legged creature. 

P Henry. Pray heaven, you have not murdered some of them. 

Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I have peppered two 
of them : two I am sure, I have paid ; two rogues in buckram 
suits. I tell thee what, Hal ; if I tell thee a lie, spit in my 
face, call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward. (Taking a 
position for fighting.) — Here I lay, and thus I bore my point. 
Four rogues in buckram let drive at me — 

P. Henry. What, four ? thou saidst but two, even now. 

Fal. Four, Hal ! I told thee four. — These four came all 
a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made no more ado, but 
took all their seven points in my target, thus. 

P. Henry. Seven! why, there were but four, even now. 

Fal. In buckram. 

P. Henry. Ay, four in buckram suits. 

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. Dost 
thou hear me, Hal ? 

P. Henry. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. 

Fal. Do so, for it is worth listening to. — These nino in 
buckram that I told thee of — 

P. Henry. So, two more already. 

Fal. Their points being broken, — began to give me ground ; 
but I followed me close, came in foot and hand, and with a 
thought, seven of the eleven I paid. 

P. Henry. Oh monstrous ! eleven buckram men grown out 
of two ! 

Fal. But, as ill-luck would have it, three misbegotten knaves, 
in Kendal green, came at my back, and let drive at me ; — foi 
it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. 

P. Henry. These lies are like the father that begets them ; 
gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou knotty-pated 
fool ; thou greasy tallow-tub. 

Fal. W hat, art thou mad ? art thou mad ? is not the truth 
the truth 1 

P. Henry. Why, how couldst thou know these men in 
Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy 
hand ? Come, tell us your reason ; what say est thou to this ? 
Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. 

Fal. What, upon compulsion ? — No. Were I at the strap- 
pado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on 
compulsion. Give you a reason upon compulsion ! If reason* 



494 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reason 
upon compulsion. 

P. Henri/. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin. This san- 
guine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back breaker, this 
huge hill of flesh — 

Fal. Away, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat's 
tongue, you stock-fish! Oh for breath to utter what is like 
thee ! you taylor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile 
standing tuck, — 

P. Henry. Well, breathe awhile and then to it again ; and 
when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me 
speak but this. — Poins and I saw you four set on four; you 
bound them, and were masters of their wealth : mark now, how 
a plain tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you 
four, and with a word, outfaced you from your prize, and have 
it, yea can show it you here in the house. And FalstafT, you 
carried your paunch away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, 
and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard 
a bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou 
hast done, and then say it was in fight ? What trick, what de- 
vice, what starting hole canst thou now find out», to hide thee 
from this open and apparent shame ? 

Fal. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — D'ye think I did not know you, Hal 1 
Why, hear ye, my master, was it for me to kill the heir ap- 
parent 1 should I turn upon the true prince ? why, thou know- 
est I am as valiant as Hercules. But beware instinct ; the lion 
will not touch the true prince ; instinct is a great matter. I was 
a coward on instinct, I grant you ; and I shall think the better 
of myself and thee during my life ; I for a valiant lion, and 
thou for a true prince. But I am glad you have the money. Let 
us clap to the doors ; watch to-night, pray to-morrow. What ! 
shall we be merry 1 shall we have a play extempore 1 

P. Henry. Content ! — and the argument shall be, thy run 
ning away. 

Fal. Ah ! — no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me. 



SELECTION XYI. 

SIR PHILIP BLANDFORD— ASHFIELD. Morton. 

Sir Philip. Come hither. I believe you hold a farm of mine. 
Ashfield. Ees, zur, I do, at your zarvice. 
Sir P. I hope a profitable one. 

Ash. Zometimes it be, zur. But thic year it be all t'other 
way r as Hwur ; but I do hope, as our landlords have a tightisb 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 495 

big lump of the good, they'll be zo kind-hearte 1 as to take a 
little bit of the bad. 

Sir P. It is but reasonable. I conclude, then, you are in 
my debt. 

Ash. Ees, zur, I be ; at your zarvice. 

Sir P. How much ? 

Ash. I do owe ye a hundred and fifty pounds ; at your zarvice. 

Sir P. Which you can't pay. 

Ash. Not a varthing, zur, at your zarvice. 

Sir P. Well, I am willing to allow yo*u every indulgence. 

Ash. Be you, zur 1 that be deadly kind. Dear heart ! it 
will make my auld dame quite young again, and I don't think 
helping a poor man will do your honor's health any harm ; I 
don't indeed, zur. I had a thought of speaking to your worship 
aboat it ; but then, thinks I, the gentleman mayhap be one of 
those that do like to do a good turn, and not have a word zaid 
about it : zo, zur, if you had not mentioned what I owed you, 
I am zure I never should ; should not, indeed, zur. 

Sir. P. Nay, I will wholly acquit you of the debt, on con- 
dition — 

Ash. Ees, zu«r. 

Sir. P. On condition, I say, that you instantly turn out 
that boy; that Henry 

Ash. Turn out Henry ! Ha, ha, ha ! Excuse my titter- 
ing, zur ; but you bees making your vun of I, zure. 

Sir P. I am not apt to trifle ; send him instantly from you, 
or take the consequences. 

Ash. Turn out Henry ! I do vow I should'nt know how 
to set about it ; I should not, indeed, zur. 

Sir P. You hear my determination. If you disobey, you 
know what will follow. I'll leave you to reflect on it. [Exit.) 

Ash. Well, zur, I'll argify the topic, and then you may 
wait upon me, and I'll tell ye. (Makes the motion of turning 
out.) I should be deadly awkard at it, vor zartain. However, 
I'll put the case. Well ! I goes whiztling whoam ; noa, drabbit 
it ! I shouldn't be able to whiztle a bit, I'm zure. Well ! I 
goes whoam, and I zees Henry sitting by my wife, mixing up 
someit to comfort the wold zoul, and take away the pain of her 
rheumatics. Very well ! Then Henry places a chair vor I 
by the vire-side, and zays — " Varmer, the horses be fed, the 
sheep be folded, and you have nothing to do but to zit down, 
smoke your pipe, and be happy !" Very well ! (Becomes af- 
fected.) Then I zays, " Henry, you be poor and friendless, 
so you must turn out of my house directly." "Very well ! then 
py wife stares at I ; reaches her hand towards the vire-place 



49G UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

and throws the poker at my head. Very well ! then Heiny 
gives a kind of aguish shake, and getting up, sighs from the 
bottom of his heart ; then holding up his head like a king, 
zays, " Varmer, I have too long been a burden to you. Heaven 
protect you, as you have me. Farewell ! I go." Then I zays, 
" If thee doez I'll be smashed." ( With great energy.) Hollo 1 
you Mister Sir Philip ! you may come in. 

{Enter Sir Philip Blandford.) 
Zur, I have argified the topic, and it wouldn't be pretty ; zo 
I can't. 

Sir P. Can't ! 

Ash. Well, zur, there is but another word : I won't. 

Sir P. Indeed. 

Ash. No, zur, I won't. I'd see myself hanged firsthand 
fou too, zur ! I would indeed. (Bowing.) 

Sir. P. You refuse then to obey ? 

Ash. I do zur ; at your zarvice. (Bowing.) 

Sir P. Then the law must take its course. 

Ash. I be zorry for that too. I be, indeed, zur ; but if corn 
wou'dn't grow I cou'dn't help it ; it wer'n't poisoned by the 
hand that zowed it. Thic hand, zur, be as free from guilt as 
your own. Good morning to you. I do hope I have made 
myself agreeable ; and zo I'll go whoam. (Exeunt.) 



SELECTION XVII. 

INDIGESTION. DR. GREGORY PATIENT. AnonymOUS. 

Scene. — Dr. Gregory's study. Enter a plump Glasgow merchant. 

Patient. Good morning, Dr. Gregory ; I'm just come into 
Edinburgh about some law business, and I thought when I was 
here, at any rate, I might just as weel take your advice, sir, 
about my trouble. 

Doctor. Pray sir, sit down. And now, my good sir, what 
may your trouble be 1 

Pa. Indeed doctor, I'm not very sure ; but I'm thinking 
t's a kind of weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a 
kind of pinkling about my stomach — I'm just na right. 

Dr. You are from the west country, I should suppose, sir ? 

Pa. Yes, sir, from Glasgow. 

Dr. Ay ; pray, sir, are you a glutton ? 

Pa. God forbid, sir, I'm one of the plainest men living in 
all the west country. 

Dr. Then perhaps you are a drunkard ? 

Pa. No, Dr. Gregory ; thank God, no one can accuse me 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 497 

of that ; I'm of the dissenting persuasion, doctor, and an elder, 
so ye may suppose I'm na drunkard. 

Dr. I'll suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode 
of life. — I'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that 1 
should wish to hear in detail what you do eat and drink. When 
do you breakfast, and what do you take at it 1 

Pa. I breakfast at nine o'clock, tak a cup of coffee, and 
one or two cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham 
or kippered salmon, or, may be, both, if they're good, and two 
or three rolls and butter. 

Dr. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast? 

Pa. Oh yes, sir ; but I don't count that as any thing. 

Dr Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. What kind 
of a dinner do you make 1 

Pa. Oh, sir, I eat a very plain dinner indeed. Some soup, 
and some fish, and a little plain roast or boiled ; for I dinna 
care for made dishes ; I think, some way, they never satisfy 
the appetite. 

Dr. You take a little pudding then, and afterwards some 
cheese ? 

Pa. Oh yes ! though I don't care much about them. 

Dr. You take a glass of ale or porter with your cheese ? 

Pa. Yes, one or the other ; but seldom both. 

Dr. You west-country people generally take a glass of 
Highland whiskey after dinner. 

Pa. Yes, we do ; it's good for digestion. 

Dr. Do you take any wine during dinner 1 

Pa. Yes, a glass or two of. sherry, but I'm indifferent as to 
wine during dinner. I drink a good deal of beer. 

Dr. What quantity of port do you drink 1 

Pa. Oh, very little ; not above half a dozen glasses, or so. 

Dr. In the west country, it is impossible, I hear, to dine 
without punch ? 

Pa. Yes, sir ; indeed 'tis punch we drink chiefly ; but for 
myself, unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take 
more than a couple of tumblers, or so, and that's moderate. 

Dr. Oh, exceedingly moderate indeed! You then, after 
this slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter ? 

Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the 
evening letters. 

Dr. And on your return you take supper, I suppose ? 

Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to tak supper ; just sometnmg 
before going to bed ; a rizzered haddock, or a bit of toasted 
cheese, or a half hundred of oysters or the like o' that, and may 
be, two thirds of a bottle of ale ; but I tak no regular supper. 

42* 



498 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Dr. But you take a little more punch after that ? 

Pa. No., sir, punch does not agree with me at w bedtime 
I tak a tumbler of warm whiskey-toddy at night ; it is lighter 
to sleep on. 

Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your every- 
day life ; but upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little ? 

Pa. No, sir, except when a friend or two dine with me, or 
I dine out, which as I am a sober family man, does not often 
happen. 

Dr. Not above twice a week? 

Pa. No ; not oftener. 

Dr. Of course you sleep well and have a good appetite ? 

Pa. Yes, sir, thank God, I have ; indeed, any ill health 
that I have is about meal time. 

Dr. [Assuming a severe look, knitting his brow, and lowering 
his eyebrows.) Now, sir, you are a very pretty fellow indeed ; 
you come here and tell me you are a moderate man ; but upon 
examination, I find by your own showing, that you are a most 
voracious glutton. You said you were a sober man, yet by 
your own showing you are a beer-swiller, a dram-drinker, a 
wine-bibber, and a guzzler of punch. You tell me you eat 
indigestible suppers, and swill toddy to force sleep. — I see that 
you chew tobacco. — Now, sir, what human stomach can stand 
this ? Go home, sir, and leave your present course of riotous 
living, and there are hopes that your stomach may recover its 
tone, and you be in good health, like your neighbors. 

Pa. I'm sure, doctor, I'm very much obliged to you — (taking 
out a bundle of bank notes.) — I shall endeavor to — 

Dr. Sir, you are not obliged to me — put up your money, 
sir. Do you think I'll take a fee for telling you what you know 
as well as myself 1 Though you're no physician, sir, you are 
not altogether a fool. Go home, sir, and reform, or take my 
word for it, your life is not worth half a year's purchase. 



SELECTION XVIII. 

CAPTAIN TACKLE JACK BOWLIN. AnOnymOUS 

Bowlin. Good day to your honor. 
Captain. Good day, honest Jack. 
Bowl. To-day is my captain's birth-day. 
Capt. I know it. 

Bowl. I am heartily glad on the occasion. 
Capt. I know that too. 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTINO. 499 

Bowl. Yesterday your honor broke your sea-foam pipe. 

Capt. Well, sir booby, and why must I be put in mind of 
it ? it was stupid enough, to be sure, but hark ye, Jack, all men 
at times do stupid actions, but I never met with one who liked 
to be reminded of them. 

Bowl. I meant no harm, your honor. It was only a kind of 
introduction to what I was going to say. I have been buying 
this pipe-head and ebony tube, and if the thing is not too bad, 
and my captain will take such a present on his birth-day for 
the sake of poor old Jack 

Capt. Is that what you would be at — come, let's see. 

Bowl, To be sure it is not sea-foam ; but my captain must 
think when he looks at it, that the love of old Jack was not 
mere foam neither. 

Capt. Give it here, my honest fellow. 

Bowl. You will take it 1 

Capt. To be sure I will. 

Bowl. And will smoke it ? 

Capt. That I will. (Feeling in his pocket.) 

Bowl. And will not think of giving me any thing in return ? 

Capt. (Withdrawing his hand from his pocket.) No, no. — 
You are right. 

Bowl. Huzza ! now r let mother Grimkin bake her almond 
cakes out of her daily pilferings and be hanged. 

Capt. Fie, Jack ! what's that you say ? 

Bowl. The truth. I have just come from the kitchen, where 
she is making a great palaver about " her cake," and " her 
cake," and yet this morning she must be put in mind that it was 
her master's birth-day. Hang me, I have thought of nothing 
else this month. 

Capt. And because you have a better memory, you must • 
olame the poor old woman. Shame on you, Jack. 

Bowl. Please your honor, she is an old 

Capt. Avast ! 

Bowl. Yesterday she made your wine cordial of sour beer, 
60 to-day she makes you an almond cake of 

Capt. Hold your tongue, sir. Hold your tongue. 

Bowl. A'nt you obliged to beg the necessaries of life as if 
she were a pope or an admiral ? And last year when you was 
bled, though she had laid up chest upon chest full of linen and 
all yours, if the truth was known, yet no bondage was fi)und 
till I tore the spare canvas from my Sunday shirt to rig four 
honor's arm. 

Capt. You are a scandalous fellow. (T/ rows the ; y l&ck 
to him.) Away with you and the pipe to th j dogs. 



600 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

Bowl. (Looking attentively at his master and the pipe.) I am 
a scandalous fellow ? 

Capt. Yes ! 

Bowl. Your honor will not have the pipe ? 

Capt. No ; I will take nothing from him who would raise 
his own character at the expense of another old servant. (Jack 
takes up the pipe and throws it out of the window.) What are 
you doing? 

Bowl. Throwing the pipe out of the window. 

Capt. Are you mad ? 

Boivl. Why, what should I do with it ? You will not have 
it, and it is impossible for me to use it, for as often as I should 
puff away the smoke, I should think, " old Jack Bowlin, what a 
pitiful scamp you must be, a man whom you have served hon- 
estly and truly these thirty years, and who must know you 
from stem to stern, says you are a scandalous fellow," and the 
thought would make me weep like a child. But when the pipe 
is gone, I shall try to forget the whole business, and say to 
myself, " my poor old captain is sick, and does not mean what 
he said." 

Capt. Jack, come here. (Takes his hand.) I did not mean 
what I said. 

Bowl. (Shakes his hand heartily.) I knew it, I knew it. I 
have you and your honor at heart, and when I see such an old 
hypocritical bell-wether cheating you out of your hard-earned 
wages, it makes my blood boil — 

Capt. Are you at it again ? Shame on you. You have 
opened your heart to-day, and given me a peep into its lowest 
hold. 

Bowl. So much the better ! for you will then see that my 
ballast is love and truth to my master. But hark ye, master, 
it is certainly worth your while to inquire into the business. 

Capt. And hark ye, fellow, if I find you have told me a lie, 
I'll have no mercy on you. I'll turn you out of doors to starve 
in the street. 

Bowl. No, captain, you won't do that. 

Capt. But I tell you I will, though. I will do it. And if 
you say another word, I'll do it now. 

Bowl. Well, then away goes old Jack to the hospital. 

Capt. What's that you say ? hospital? hospital, you rascal ? 
what will you do there ? 

Boxcl. Die. 

Capt. And so you will go and die in a hospital, will you ? 
Why — why — you lubber, do you think I can't take care of you 
after I have turned you out of doors, hey 1 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 1)01 

Bowl. Yes, I dare say you would be willing to pay my 
board, and take care that I did not want in my old days ; but I 
had rather beg than pick up money so thrown at me. 

Capt. Rather beg ! there's a proud rascal ! 

^owl. He that don't love me must not give me money 

Capt. Do you hear that ? Is not this enough to give a 
sound man the gout ? You sulky fellow, do you recollect twenty 
years ago, when we fell into the clutches of the Algerines ? 
The pirates stripped me of my last jacket, but you lubber, who 
was it hid two pieces of gold in his hair, and who was it that 
half a year afterwards, when we were ransomed and turned 
naked on the world, snared his money and clothes with me ? 
Hey, fellow, and now you would die in a hospital. 

Bowl. Nay, but captain — 

Capt. And when my ship's crew mutinied, at the risk of his 
life he disclosed the plot. Have you forgotten it, you lubber 1 

Bowl. Well, and didn't you build my old mother a house 
for it ? 

Capt. And when we had boarded the French privateer, and 
the captain's hanger hung over my head, didn't you strike of! 
the arm that was going to split my skull ! Have you forgot 
that too ? Have I built you a house for that ? Will you die in 
a hospital now — you ungrateful dog ! hey ? 

Bowl. My good old master ! 

Capt. Would you have it set on my tombstone, " here lies 
an unthankful hound who let his preserver and messmate die in 
a hospital," would you 1 Tell me this minute, you will live and 
die by me, you lubber ! Come here and give me your hand. 

Bowl. (Going towards him.) My noble, noble master. 

Capt. Avast. Stand off, take care of my lame leg ; yet I 
had rather you should hurt that than my heart, my old boy 
(Shakes his hand heartily.) Now go and bring me the pipe 
Stop, let me lean on you, and I will go down and get it myself 
and use it on my birth-day. You would die in a hospital, 
would you, you unfeeling lubber ? 



SELECTION XIX 

ROBIN ROUGHHEAD SNACKS VILLAGERS. Allingham. 

(Robin Roughhead discovered raking hay.) 

Rob. Ah ! work, work, work, all day long, and no such 

thing as stopping a moment to rest ! for there's old Snacks, the 

steward, always upon the look-out ; and if he sees one, slap he 

lias it down in his book, and then there's sixpence gone plump 



502 UNITED STATES SPEAKER. 

(Comes forward.) I do hate that old chap, and that's the truth 
on't. Now, if I was lord of this place, I'd make one rule — 
there should be no such thing as work ; it should be one long 
holiday all the year round. Your great folks have strange 
whims in their heads, that's for sartin. I don't know what to 
make of 'urn, not I. Now there's all yon great park there, 
kept for his lordship to look at, and his lordship has not seen it 
these twelve years. Ah ! if it was mine, I'd let all the villa- 
gers turn their cows in there, and it should not cost 'em a far- 
thing ; then, as the parson said last Sunday, I should be as rich 
as any in the land, for I should have the blessings of the poor. 
Dang it ! here comes Snacks. Now I shall get a fine jobation, 
I suppose. (Enter Snacks, bowing very obsequiously; Robin 
takes his hat off, and stands staring at him.) 

Rob. I be main tired, Master Snacks ; so I stopt to rest 
myself a little. I hope you'll excuse it. I wonder what the 
dickens he's grinning at. (Aside.) 

Snacks. Excuse it ? I hope your lordship's infinite good- 
ness and condescension will excuse your lordship's most obse- 
quious, devoted, and very humble servant, Timothy Snacks, 
who has come into the presence of your lordship, for the pur- 
pose of informing your lordship — 

Rob. Lordship ! he, he, he ! Well ! I never knew I had a 
hump before. Why, Master Snacks, you grow funny in ■ your 
old age. 

Snacks. No, my lord, I know my duty better; 1 should 
never think of being funny with a lord. 

Rob. What lord ? Oh you mean the lord Harry, I suppose. 
No, no, must not be too funny with him, or he'll be after play- 
ing the very deuce with you. 

Snacks. I say I should never think of jesting with a person 
of your lordship's dignified character. 

Rob. Dig — dig — what ! W T hy, now I look at you, 1 see 
how it is ; you are mad. I wonder what quarter the moon's in. 
Dickens ! how your eyes do roll ! I never saw you so before. 
How came they to let you out alone ? 

Snacks, Your lordship is most graciously pleased to bo 
facetious. 

Rob. Why, what gammon are you at ? Don't come neai 
me, for you have been bit by a mad dog ; I'm sure you have. 

Snacks. If your lordship will be so kind as to read this 
letter, it would convince your lordship. Will your lordship 
condescend 1 

Rob. Why, I would condescend, but for a few reasons, and 
one of 'tm is, that I can't read. 



HUMOROUS AND DIVERTING. 503 

Snacks. I think your lordship is perfectly right ; for these 
pursuits are too low for one of your lordship's nobility. 

Rob. Lordship, and lordship again ! I'll tell you what, 
Master Snacks — let's have no more of your fun, for I won't 
stand it any longer, for all you be steward here : my name's 
Robin Roughhead, and if you don't choose to call me by that 
name, I shan't answer you, that's flat. — I don't like him well 
enough to stand his jokes. (Aside.) 

Snacks. Why then, Master Robin, be so kind as to attend 
whilst I read this letter. (Reads.) 

" Sir, — This is to inform you, that my lord Lackwit died 
this morning, after a very short illness ; during which he de- 
clared that he had been married, and had an heir to his estate : 
the woman he married was commonly called, or known, by the 
name of Roughhead : she was poor and illiterate, and through 
motives of false shame, his lordship never acknowledged her 
as his wife : she has been dead sometime since, and left be- 
hind her a son called Robin Roughhead : now this said Robin 
is the legal heir to the estate. 1 have therefore sent you the 
necessary writings to put him into immediate possession, ac- 
cording to his lordship's last will and testament. Yours to 
command, Kit Codicil, Attorney at Law." 

Rob. What ! — What all mine ? the houses, the trees, the 
fields, the hedges, the ditches, the gates, the horses, the dogs, 
the cats, the cocks, and the hens, and the cows, and the bulls, 
and the pigs, and the — What ! are they all mine ? and I, Robin 
Roughhead, am the rightful lord of all this estate 1 Don't keep 
me a minute now, but tell me — is it so 1 make haste, tell me — 
quick, quick ! 

Snacks. I repeat it, the whole estate is yours, 

Rob. Huzza! Huzza! (Catches off Snacks hat and wig.) 
Set the bells a ringing ; set the ale a running ; set — Go get my 
hat full of guineas to make a scramble with ; call all the ten- 
ants together. I'll lower their rents — I'll — 

Snacks. I hope your lordship will do me the favor to — 

Rob. Wiry, that may be as it happens ; I can't tell. ( Carelessly.) 

Snacks. Will your lordship dine at the castle to-day 1 

Rob. Yes. 

Snacks. What would your lordship choose for dinner ? 

Rob. Beef-steaks and onions, and plenty of 'em. 

Snacks. Beef-steaks and onions ! What a dish for a lord ! — » 
He'll be a savory bit for my daughter, though. (Aside.) 

Rob. What are you at there, Snacks ? Go, get me the 
guineas — make haste ; I'll have the scramble, and then I'll go 
to Dollv, and tell her the news. 



504 IhNifED STATES SPEAKER. 

Snacks. Dolly ! Pray, my lord, who's Dolly ? 

Rob. Why, Dolly is to be my lady, and your mistress, if 1 
find you honest enough to keep you in my employ. 

Snacks. He rather smokes me. (Aside.) I have a beauteous 
daughter, who is allowed to be the very pink of perfection. 

Rob. Hang your daughter ! I have got something else to 
think of ; don't talk to me of your daughter ; stir your stumps, 
and get the money. 

Snacks. I am your lordship's most obsequious — Zounds! 
what a peer of the realm. (Aside and exit.) 

Rob. Ha ! ha ! ha ! What work I will make in the village ! 
— Work ! no, there shall be no such thing as work : it shall be 
all play. — Where shall I go ? I'll go to — No, I won't go there ; 
I'll go to Farmer Hedgestakes, and tell him — No, I'll not go 
there ; I'll go — I'll go no where ; yes, I will ; I'll go every 
where ; I'll be neither here nor there, nor any where else. 
How pleased Dolly will be when she hears — 

(Enter villagers, shouting.) 
Dick, Tom, Jack, how are you, my lads ? — Here's news for 
you ! Come, stand round, make a ring, and I'll make a bit of 
a speech to you. (They all get round him.) First of all, I 
suppose Snacks has told you that I am your landlord ? 

Vil. We are all glad of it. 

Rob. So am I ; and I'll make you all happy ; I'll lower all 
your rents. 

All. Huzza ! long live lord Robin ! 

Rob. You shan't pay no rent at all. 

AIL Huzza ! huzza ! long live lord Robin ! 

Rob. I'll have no poor people in the parish, for I'll make 
'em all rich ; I'll have no widows, for I'll marry 'em all. (Vil- 
lagers shout.) I'll have no orphan children, for I'll father 'em 
all myself ; and if that's not doing as a lord should do, then I 
say I know nothing about the matter — that's all. 

All. Huzza! huzza! 

(Enter Snacks.) 

Snacks. I have brought your lordship the money. — He 
means to make 'em fly, so I have taken care the guineas shall 
be all light. (Aside.) 

Rob. Now, then, young and old, great and small, little and 
tall, merry men all, here's among you— ( Throws the money ; 
they scramble.) Now you've got your pockets filled, come to 
the castle, and 111 fill all your mouths for you. (Villagers 
carry him off shouting. Snacks follows.) 



UtW 



THE END. 



1 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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021 100 521 A 



